


recurrent novae

by hakoniwa



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blow Jobs, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, by which i mean a lot is the same but i rewrote some key stuff because UUHHH, canon compliant S1-7, canon divergent S8, or rather imagined blow jobs but i don't think that's a tag yet, the gang's all here but i'm not tagging them all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-09-12 01:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16863730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hakoniwa/pseuds/hakoniwa
Summary: Recurrent novae: (n, plural, astronomy) A variable star which repeats a process of sudden brightening and gradual diminishing, usually at in interval of several decades.Or; the evolution of Keith and Shiro's relationship over the course of the series.





	1. Horologium

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing this back in october but knowing myself i wanted to have a reasonable buffer first so now that i do uhhhhhhhhhhhh sure please take this

_ HOROLOGIUM: A faint constellation in the southern sky. It represents the pendulum clock. Its brightest star is Alpha Horologii. _

\--

Shiro has always been the brightest star in Keith’s sky. It’s only been a few years since that first day and yet he might as well have been there forever. He’s a steady hand and a warm smile in a world Keith thought had given up on him. Shiro is the person he wants to be when he grows up: cool, and smart, and brave. 

He’s Polaris if it were ten times - a million times - brighter. Until suddenly he’s not.

Keith doesn’t remember much about the day news of the Kerberos mission came in. He remembers ‘missing, presumed dead’ and ‘pilot error’, and somehow being too hot and too cold at the same time. He remembers the burn in his throat as he lost his breakfast, and how the linoleum of the washroom floor seemed to waver beneath his fingers. Most of all he remembers riding through the desert on Shiro’s hoverbike at top speed, screams swallowed by the wind. He hadn’t had a destination in mind. A large part of him hadn’t cared, and wouldn’t have minded if he’d careened into a rocky outcrop or off a cliff.

Eventually he must have found the house because he knows more than remembers that he collapsed there. From the moth-eaten couch he watched the sun and moon chase each other across the sky, until Iverson showed up with a box under his arm and an ultimatum: return or be discharged. As if anything even mattered with Shiro gone.

\--

Life in the desert suits Keith. He does odd jobs in town during the week and gets paid mostly in  _ things _ rather than money. It doesn’t bother him. He needs the food and the fuel, and occasionally someone is nice enough to throw in a new pair of sneakers or an outdated flight manual. His weekends consist mostly of reading. Until he finds the cave.

The markings on the walls are like nothing he’s ever seen before. They’re too precise to have been drawn by hand, and yet they’re clearly ancient. The mouth of the cave itself is well hidden, so much so that he might never have found it if he hadn’t felt  _ something _ pulling him in that direction.

Keith doesn’t believe in fate. If he did, he might have said that he was meant to find this place.

Deciphering the markings happens through instinct. Somehow he knows what they mean, like how knows that all the signs point to something falling from the sky. He marks the date on his calendar. It’s the first time since Kerberos that he’s bothered to track the passing of time.

\--

Keith still doesn’t believe in fate. There has to be an explanation, but whatever it is can wait. He’d been expecting something, sure, but this wasn’t even on the list. His head is filled with noise - a thousand questions all demanding answers at once, words drowned out by the blood rushing in his ears and the rapid beating of his heart.

He moves without thinking. Shiro is here, and he needs Keith’s help, and that’s all he needs to know. The rest is just details. He doesn’t stop until they’re back at the house, barely registering the three cadets squawking in his living room.

With some difficulty, he half carries and half drags Shiro to the bed in the corner. Once there he tries to gently lower the unconscious man to the mattress. It ends up more like dropping him. Shiro must be out cold though because even that doesn’t stir him. Keith frowns and attempts to arrange Shiro’s limbs into something that might resemble comfort.

His first instinct is to crawl onto the narrow frame too and wedge himself between Shiro and the wall. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d slept like that, chased in from the desert by the threat of sudden sandstorms. He thinks better of it when Shiro whimpers in his sleep.

The sound sends a chill through him. Something went wrong out there - that much is painfully obvious, has been since it hit the news a year ago - and for the first time he stops long enough to actually  _ look _ at Shiro.

Part of his hair’s gone white. The parts of his skin open to the air are covered in scars, some newer than others. He knows for a fact that none of them existed before Kerberos. The most prominent one spans his face. One of his arms is gone, replaced by a prosthetic. Keith feels bile rise in the back of his throat when he looks at it, thinks of what horror could have caused so much damage.

He decides distance is probably the smartest move. There’s an armchair in the opposite corner of the room and Keith folds himself into it. It takes some maneuvering but he manages to find a comfortable position, with his knees drawn up to his chest and his head jammed into the motheaten upholstery. He intends to keep watch like that til morning. He really does. But now the adrenaline’s wearing off and his traitorous eyes refuse to stay open.

Still he struggles, finding peace in watching the rise and fall of Shiro’s chest until sleep takes him.

\--

Panic rises in his chest when he wakes to silence and an empty bed the next morning. His eyes burn as he untangles himself from his makeshift nest. 

It must have been a dream. Either that or he’s finally snapped after living alone in the desert for so long. But when he trudges into the next room the three interlopers are still there - Pidge curled in an armchair, Lance sprawled across the couch and Hunk swaddled in a blanket on the floor. They’re very much asleep. No Shiro in sight. If he’s not here, then...

His gaze drifts to the window. There’s a familiar silhouette standing on a dune outside, staring up at the sky.

Keith moves without a second thought. Even after so long it’s natural, a homing instinct, to place himself beside Shiro. He’s had dreams like this before. Ones where he chases Shiro’s back, never getting any closer no matter how much he struggles. This isn’t like that. Shiro grows closer with each step and then he turns - probably hearing the crunch of sand under Keith’s feet - and offers a weary smile.

Keith ignores the flutter in his chest when their eyes meet. That’s new, and complicated, and above all else he wants things to be like they were. Change is a risk. He’s been burnt enough times that he knows when to leave well enough alone.

He smiles back all the same.

Things get weird after that. There are lions, and aliens, and they’re so, so far away from anything any of them know. 

It’s the best he’s felt in months.

\--

It’s been a long time since Keith’s been part of a team. There are plenty of things he loathes - Hunk yelling over comms, Pidge’s innate need to use the most complicated words possible, pretty much anything Lance does - but there are bright spots too. Hunk always saves him a serve of whatever he cooks. Pidge knows how to share a comfortable silence. Allura is a genuinely pleasant companion. Sometimes Lance is asleep.

Normally he’d count Shiro squarely in the ‘good’ column, but Keith knows him well enough to know that he’s hiding something. He never talks about his time with the Galra. 

Shiro flinches at loud sounds and sudden movements. Sometimes he doesn’t sleep for days at a time. It’s a normal reaction to being held prisoner and forced to fight for the amusement of warmongering aliens. That’s not what worries him. Well it does, but he’s never been one for focussing too much on things he can’t change. What worries Keith is Shiro’s tendency to shoulder all the world’s burdens alone.

So when Shiro skips dinner, it’s Keith who volunteers to take a bowl to his quarters. He finds the door closed but not locked.

Knocking would be the easy and normal thing to do, so naturally Keith hovers outside. He stands with his hand just barely raised towards the sleek metal of the door, trying to remember to breathe.

Bringing food to your friends is totally normal. Especially if they’re skipping meals. He’s not intruding. If Shiro doesn’t want to see anyone then he’ll just tell Keith to go away. Except that Shiro’s only ever turned him away once, and that was when he  _ definitely _ needed help but was too stubborn to ask for it. So if he won’t open the door should Keith just barge in? Shiro’s done that for him before, when he was being a snotty brat and refusing to get up for class. But is that overstepping a boundary? Would it make things worse? What if-

After a few minutes he huffs, scolds himself, and taps the panel on the wall.

He puts on his best pizza boy drawl. “Hey, yeah, I’ve got a delivery for Shiro? You missed dinner.”

A few seconds later the door slides open and Shiro’s blinking owlishly at him. His eyes are bleary, and it takes him a few seconds to register the bowl of goop in Keith’s hands.

He perks up and takes the bowl with a small smile. “Thanks, Keith.”

When Shiro shuffles back inside and doesn’t immediately close the door, Keith takes it as an invitation to follow. 

The room doesn’t look like it belongs to Shiro. It’s messier than his quarters at the Garrison ever were; not messy by most people’s standards, but an unmade bed and yesterday’s clothes tossed in the corner set alarm bells off in Keith’s head. There’s not much else in the room. The others have taken things from elsewhere in the castle (with Allura’s permission) to furnish their quarters, or picked up things on their travels. Keith abstained from looting. He has his knife, a handful of rocks from the planets they’ve visited, and a water-damaged paperback that remains only slightly legible. Shiro hasn’t collected anything.

Before Kerberos his quarters were regulation neat and peppered with little parts of  _ him _ . There were the posters of old space expeditions and the miniature shuttle replicas. The dogeared flight manuals and a half dozen papers on obsolete machinery, ‘just in case’. There was the bookshelf that Keith raided at least once a week, and the pictures of friends and family standing like sentinels on their shelves.

The only thing in this room is a lamp. It beams a soft sunset glow across the nothingness, tracing Shiro’s features as he returns to sit on the bed.

There isn’t really anywhere else to go so Keith sits beside him, trying to decide how to be close but not too close, and definitely not so far away that it’s weird. If Shiro notices his hesitation he doesn’t say anything, more interested in examining the bowl of slime.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to Altean food,” he laughs, and tilts his head up to show Keith a smile. It reaches his eyes, barely.

Keith frowns and knocks their elbows together. “Wasn’t it you who used to tell me to eat my vegetables?”

“You were never a picky eater.” Shiro pauses to poke the the green mass with his spoon. “And I’m not sure this counts as a vegetable.”

He starts to eat and Keith lets himself smile. “It’s not like you to miss a meal.”

Shiro mulls over his mouthful before swallowing. “The taste isn’t bad, but the texture leaves something to be desired.”

“Shiro.”

“Keith.”

Keith crosses his arms. “Look, you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. As long as you eat, I’m good,” a lie, “but the others are worried, and I could really do without Coran and Allura nagging my ear off about the necessity of shared meals for team bonding.”

Shiro considers this for a moment. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Keith sighs.

“Maybe not but I will be - have to be. For the team.”

Keith gives him a look and he holds his hands up, appeasing.

“Okay, okay. Point taken. I promise that, this time at least, there’s nothing wrong. I took a nap and overslept. That’s it.”

Keith narrows his eyes. “You? Overslept? Takashi Shirogane doesn’t oversleep. He sets three different alarms and wakes up an hour early.”

“Just in case,” Shiro says, smiling into his bowl.

Keith nods. “Just in case.”

A minute passes in silence, then two, and Keith waits. A half-dozen mouthfuls later Shiro sets his bowl down on the floor and grips his knees, as though bracing himself.

He opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again. “I’ve been trying to catch up on sleep during the day when I can. I haven’t been getting much at night.”

“The nightmares?”

He nods. “Sometimes I think they’re getting better. I go a couple of days without waking up drenched in sweat. Then they’re back.”

Keith presses a hand to his shoulder. “You can talk to me about it, you know. If you want.”

Shiro pauses, then shakes his head. “No. They  _ are _ getting better. The periods in between are getting longer, I -” he takes a breath to steady himself, “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“It’s not a burden,” Keith says. He squeezes Shiro’s shoulder, and the whole scene reminds him of one from years ago, when Keith flubbed an assignment and it felt like the world was crashing down around him. Shiro was there to talk him out of it. Keith would repay the favour a million times over without blinking. “You’re not a burden.”

Shiro smiles. It’s the brightest he’s smiled since he fell down to Earth, and it makes warmth bloom in Keith’s chest. 

For a moment they just look at each other. Shiro’s expression is so fond, and Keith’s whole body feels tingly and light.

Shiro reaches up to ruffle Keith’s hair, and Keith lets him for a minute before he bats him off. “You’ve grown so much.”

“Guess you did a good job mentoring me.”

“Guess I did.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

\--

Keith knows Shiro’s habits. He knows his expression, his reactions, and Keith knows exactly what he has to do to drag out each one. Or, he used to. Shiro’s smiles are as bright as always - dazzling, gleaming, warmer than the sun - but being on the receiving end feels different. Before, it used to just make Keith happy. Now it makes something warm twist in his gut and his heart skip a beat. 

Shiro’s muscles, too, he appreciates in a new way. Before, he wanted to be like Shiro. He wanted to be stronger and faster, both for himself and to make Shiro proud. Shiro’s form was an inspiration. Seeing his muscles flex now, deliciously taut under scarred skin, makes Keith’s throat run dry. He wants to touch. Not just when they’re sparring. He wants to run his tongue over those abs and feel how it makes Shiro’s breath hitch, wants to push him into his mattress and swallow him down ‘til he screams.

_ That’s _ when Keith realises he has a problem, and he pushes it to the back of his mind with a combination of denial and cold showers. With the fluttering in his chest he can pretend he’s just happy, just glad to have Shiro back. It’s easy to explain away. He can’t pretend his feelings are entirely platonic when his dick is trying to jump out of his pants.

\--

Life in the castle is strange for Shiro. He supposes it’s strange for all of them - except Allura and Coran, of course. It helps that they’re all struggling with something. Not that he’s  _ glad _ to know his friends are suffering, but it makes him feel less alone that he’s not the only one dealing with nightmares.

It’s funny how trauma works. His memories of captivity are like the tide. Sometimes they’re just the distant crash of waves on the horizon. Other times they sweep over him, and he’s helpless to stop them dragging him out to sea. 

Maybe one of the planets out here has therapists.

But there’s not really time to break himself down like that and build himself anew. So he makes do, patching the wounds with breathing exercises and meditation. The nightmares never really leave. They do start to fade into the background. The more he remembers in his waking hours the less they plague him, and for that he’s thankful.

Piecing together almost two missed years on Earth is an interesting exercise. At least Keith is, for the most part, happy to indulge him. There are so many things he wants to know. The biggest questions are, of course, the hardest ones.

They’re on the observation deck, watching a particularly bright nebula crawl past. Keith slumps over the railing next to him. He’s older now, and that might be the strangest thing of all. He’s taller. At sixteen Keith was gangly, all elbows and knees. He was scrappy. This Keith is closer to lithe. He’s not fully grown, that much is obvious, but he’s lost that awkwardness from his middle-teens. 

He’s starting to look handsome. 

Shiro turns the thought over in his mind a few times before putting it aside. He’s allowed to be proud. Anything more than that is grossly inappropriate. Not that he’s thinking anything  _ improper _ . In a few years he might be in trouble though, and that thought is… something. He probably wouldn’t even be considering it if he’d stayed on Earth.

Earth. Which is a convenient distraction.

He shifts, catching Keith’s attention. The boy looks up at him and cocks his head in question.

“What’s up?”

Shiro smiles. “What do you mean, ‘what’s up’? I didn’t say anything.”

“You have that look. The one where you’re thinking too hard.” He schools his expression into an imitation, complete with furrowed brow and slight frown.

Shiro nudges him with an elbow and laughs. “I don’t look like that.”

“Do too.”

He pauses, arranges the words carefully in his head before he speaks them aloud. “You never did tell me what they reported about Kerberos.”

Keith flinches. He looks back out at the stars, tilting his head away to hide his face. “Does it matter? They lied.”

“Pidge told me the Garrison covered up the extraterrestrial involvement.” He watches the boy beside him, the way he scrunches himself up and clings to the railing. 

Seeing Keith like this is painful. He’s all clenched muscles and wild eyes, a caged wolf looking for an exit. For a moment Shiro regrets bringing it up, wonders if he can take it back, but it’s already out there. He needs to know.

“Keith, please,” he says.

“They said it was pilot error,” Keith bites out the words after another few minutes, shuddering like they leave a bad taste in his mouth. “Said it was because you were flying against medical advice.”

Shiro nods. He had a feeling that would be the story they went with. 

“It’s bullshit.”

“Keith.”

“They made it your fault. No one cared that it wasn’t true.” The anger bleeds out of him as quickly as it flared and he looks up at Shiro like he might have the answers, like he might be able to make sense of a world he doesn’t understand. “They could have said anything - said there was a malfunction or a rogue asteroid or a problem with the oxygen supply, or  _ something _ . But they blamed you. I can’t forgive them for that.”

“What did you do?” The words are out before Shiro can stop them. He knows Keith, knows how hot his temper burns. His first thought is Iverson’s car and how there’s a non-zero chance it ended up on fire and in a ditch. 

Keith shakes his head. “Nothing. They’d already kicked me out by the time I got mad about it.”

This isn’t news to Shiro. Lance brings it up at every opportunity, so it’s hardly a secret. He still doesn’t know the reason. “Why did they kick you out?”

“That’s kind of what happens when you don’t show up to class for a month.”

He doesn’t say it’s because of Kerberos. He doesn’t have to.

Shiro puts a hand on his shoulder. He squeezes, hoping it conveys all the things he’s not ready to say.  _ I’m sorry I left you behind _ .  _ I want to promise it won’t happen again, but I can’t. I’m so sorry I left you alone. _ Instead he says: “Please don’t do something like that again.”

Keith smirks at him. It’s a cover for a deeper hurt that neither of them want to pick at yet. “Don’t die again.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Promise?”

“I’ll swear on all the stars in the sky if you want.” He grins. “We might be here a while though.”

Keith rolls his eyes in response. 

They move on to less heavy subjects, like old colleagues and friends. He avoids asking about Adam. Keith tells him anyway.

“He sent me a Christmas card last year. I don’t know how he got the address, but it sounds like he’s doing alright.”

“That’s good.”

“It was weird. But I sent one back.”

Shiro smiles. “That was good of you.”

Keith shrugs and hides his face behind his bangs, embarrassed. “It’s basic decency. Not a high bar.” He pauses, fidgeting with the sleeve of his jacket. “Do you think you’d get back together? If we went back to Earth, I mean.”

“No.” Shiro stares up at the stars. He remembers the arguments but they feel like they happened a lifetime ago. “We ended on pretty bad terms but it was for the best, in the end.” 

Keith watches him silently, as though he expects him to elaborate. There’s nothing else to say. He’s already had this conversation with the Holts and trying to have it again with Keith makes him fidgety. Keith looks guarded, like when they’re sparring and he’s anticipating a blow, and Shiro isn’t sure  _ why _ but he keeps stumbling over how to best convey that it’s all very much in the past.

He clears his throat, settling on something that sounds safe. “Besides, even if I wanted that, our work with Voltron comes first.” 

“Right. Responsibility and all that.” Keith lets out a long breath and his shoulders relax. “Universes to save.”

“What did you say?” Things got a bit more serious than he intended, and Shiro has an idea to lighten the mood.

Keith raises an eyebrow at him. “Universe to save?”

“No, no,” Shiro giggles, “you have to say it properly.” He takes a deep breath, puffs up his chest and curls his biceps, striking a heroic pose he remembers from watching Saturday morning cartoons, perched on one leg with his arms held up in the air. “There are planets to defend!”

Keith bursts into laughter, shaking so hard he has to cling to the railing to stay upright. Every time he starts to calm he turns to see Shiro still standing in the pose, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, and he falls into hysterics again. He’s wiping away tears by the time he can manage words.

“You’re such a dork,” Keith wheezes.

“I’m not a dork,” Shiro says, grinning, “I’m a defender of the universe.”

Keith’s about to make some sarcastic remark when he’s interrupted. Allura’s voice crackles over the the announcement system, something about an asteroid and impending doom and needing to form Voltron.

“Speaking of,” Keith groans. “Time to defend the universe, Shiro the Hero.”

Shiro just laughs. It’s worth being made fun of if it gets Keith to smile.

\--

When Allura suggests a team building exercise the paladins are understandably cautious, considering one of her last attempts involved shooting them with lasers. They’re in a mood to indulge her though, in the hopes that it might speed along her recovery. And it would be nice to take a break after everything that happened on the Balmera. Hunk suggests an Earth game and Coran gets so excited that it seals the deal.

They run through a handful of suggestions. Shiro puts contact sports off the table as soon as he notices Keith and Lance agitating at each other. Pidge produces a pack of playing cards from her pocket, but returns it when Lance and Hunk start to wail.

“No way am I playing poker with you again,” Hunk says, holding his arms up as a shield.

Shiro frowns. “Do I want to know the story there?”

“Pidge cheats.” Lance shrugs.

“I do  _ not _ ,” Pidge snaps. “It’s just math! Not my fault you’re too stupid for basic probability.”

“Yeah, Lance,” Keith says. “It’s just math.”

“Did you even pass math, dropout?”

Shiro holds up his hands, placating. “Okay, okay. No poker.”

Pidge deflates but doesn’t argue the point.

Eventually they settle on hide and seek. Keith thinks its juvenile. He was never much of a fan of the game, even as a child, and that was before the other kids started using it as an excuse to ditch him.

They let Coran seek first since he’s so excited about learning a new game. Allura rigs the castle’s surveillance system so they can hear his counting. It’s hard to tell exactly how long remains since he’s counting in Altean, though Keith isn’t actually looking for a proper hiding place. He still hasn’t decided whether he’ll play along, or head back to his quarters and take a nap.

“Hey, Keith!”

He jumps at the voice, head whipping around wildly and brow furrowing when he finds the hall empty. There’s a sound like someone clearing their throat down near his knees. When he looks he finds Pidge staring at him, crammed into the space behind a maintenance panel, her arms pinned to her sides

He raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“Hiding,” she says, like it’s obvious.

Keith frowns. “You’re… still kind of out in the open.”

“Not if you close this panel for me. I’d do it myself, but I’m kind of stuck.” She wiggles her fingers for effect, still wedged against her waist.

He sighs and slides the panel shut before heading off down the hallway. A muffled ‘thanks, Keith!’ echoes after him.

The game actually turns out to be more fun that expected. Lance nearly breaks a leg when he falls trying to scale a wall in one of the lion bays. Pidge keeps them busy for the better part of an hour when she somehow manages to make a nest in one of the castle’s light fixtures. Coran abuses his knowledge of maintenance corridors until Allura, thankfully, declares them off limits. Hunk somehow remains undetected behind a curtain.

By the time it’s Keith’s turn to seek he’s mostly come around to it. He makes a point of finding Lance first, dragging him out of a storage space by the observation deck. He’s halfway through the round when a dull  _ thump _ catches his attention from what he’s pretty sure is a laundry chute. He opens the hatch slowly, half expecting Pidge to kick the door out and try to run before Keith can say he’s found her.

Instead he finds Shiro, grinning up at him sheepishly.

Keith blinks. “What are you doing?”

“You got me,” he shrugs. He doesn’t slip further when his arms leave the side of the chute, so his thighs must be doing a lot of work. They’re certainly strong enough. He could probably crush a man’s head with those things. Keith feels the blush creep across his face, and he desperately hopes the lighting in this part of the castle is low enough to hide it.

Shiro sighs. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Oh. A realisation brings a smile to Keith’s face. Looking closer he notices that Shiro is lodged just far enough down that he can’t reach the edge to pull himself out. “You’re stuck.” 

“Yes.” Shiro makes a face. “Now that you’ve found me can you please help me out? My legs are starting to cramp.”

Keith makes a show of considering it. He strokes his chin, transfers his weight from foot to foot.

“Keith, come on. Please?”

He sighs and reaches out to wrap his fingers around Shiro’s wrist. “Alright, alright.” 

He pulls gently and Shiro doesn’t budge. He tugs harder, groaning with the effort, but nothing gives.

“Geez, how the hell did you manage this?” Keith asks. He readjusts his grip and leans back, using his weight as leverage.

Shiro grimaces up at him. “I got the idea when I found Coran in the elevator shaft. This was the next obvious step.”

“And you didn’t think to, I don’t know, measure it before you got in?”

“Of course I did,” Shiro huffs. “I just didn’t think to check if it got narrower further down.”

Keith laughs, and the extra jostling drags Shiro a couple of inches forward.

“Aren’t  _ you _ the one who’s supposed to keep  _ me _ from doing stupid stuff like this?”

“It’s team building, Keith. If I don’t participate then it doesn’t work.”

“And how exactly does getting stuck in a laundry chute help with that?”

Shiro chuckles, wiggling closer to freedom. “You have the best chance of finding your teammates if you can get in their heads. Think like them. The more obscure the hiding spot, the better.”

Keith shifts his weight to the back of his heels. A metallic groan emanates from the wall and he tumbles backwards, pulling Shiro with him. They end up in a tangle of limbs on the floor and Keith tries very hard not to think about how warm Shiro is, or all the places they’re touching.

Shiro pushes himself up on his elbows and grins down at him. His hair’s tousled in the most beautiful way, bangs hanging messy over one eye. “I really owe you one, bud.”

“Yea-ah, sure.” Keith’s voice breaks in the middle. He can’t decide if he wants to live in this moment forever or crawl into a hole and die. Maybe both.

Shiro rocks to his feet, offering a hand once he’s up. “Seriously. You’ve been getting me out of trouble almost daily since I crashed on Earth.”

“It’s no big deal.” Their fingers touch and he tries to swallow the heart beating in his throat. 

“Thanks, Keith.” Shiro claps his shoulder with enough force to make him stumble.

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t get stuck like that again.”


	2. Leo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not really happy with this but i'm tired of looking at it so it's staying as is

_ LEO: One of the constellations of the zodiac, representing the lion. The lion’s mane and shoulders form an asterism known historically as the Sickle, though modern viewers often refer to this as ‘the question mark’. Its brightest star is Regulus. _

_ \-- _

The mishap with the ship’s AI makes them all wary about using the castle’s systems for a few days. Hunk still refuses to go near the food dispenser unless he’s armed with his trusty salad bowl. Lance won’t go near the airlocks without his paladin armour. Keith’s anxiety manifests as a lingering distrust of the training droids. 

“I can run the diagnostics again if it will make you feel better, but the systems are in tip-top shape! I’d bet the Coranich title on it,” Coran says.

Keith just looks at him.

“Coranich, remember? Like mechanic?”

“Yeah, that’s not the problem.”

“Maybe you’re just chicken,” Lance calls from the other side of the room. He bends his arms and flaps them, strutting about like he’s king of the farmyard.

Keith shoots him a glare. “One more cluck out of you, birdbrain, and I’m throwing you out the airlock.”

If he’s being entirely honest, it only takes a few days for Keith the believe that the droids won’t try to kill him. Continuing the charade is, however, a useful excuse for spending more time sparring with living opponents. This translates into more time doing two of his favourite things: having an excuse to punch Lance in the face, and getting up close and personal with Shiro.

He rationalises that the second one isn’t just about the physical contact. Sparring with Shiro is a legitimate learning opportunity. It’s familiar enough that Shiro doesn’t freeze up like he still does sometimes against the droids, so it’s good for both of them.

The part that actually makes him feel guilty is how he thinks about it afterwards when he’s alone in his room. His musings would be innocent in a different context. In his mind he replays each time Shiro pins him, trying to remember every detail. The feel of his hands on Keith’s body. The way Shiro looks with his skin flushed from exertion. How it feels to be pressed into the floor and held there, unable to break free. Sometimes he even manages to pin Shiro. That might be the best of all, not least because it comes with a litany of praise.

\--

Keith’s day starts in the mess hall with the usual bowl of Altean gruel. The taste is growing on him - somewhere between sweet bean paste and spinach - but the texture still makes him gag. Pidge sits across from him. She’s tapping away on her tablet, so absorbed that he’s not sure she knows he’s there.

Hunk slides in next to him with a heavy sigh.

“What’s with you?” Keith asks around his spoon.

Hunk pouts. “I miss cave stew.”

Pidge looks up from her work, eyebrows knitted together. “Didn’t that have bugs in it?”

“Yes!” He slumps over the table. “It was weird and delicious and I don’t care if it sounds gross. I’m not gonna let our weird Earth hangups get between me and a whole universe of delicacies.”

“I’m sure Shay will teach you the recipe,” Pidge says.

A yawn from the doorway announces Lance’s arrival. “What’s this about Hunk’s girlfriend?”

“She’s gonna teach him how to make bug soup,” Keith says.

“Ew,” Lance sniffs. “Is that some weird Balmeran euphemism or is he literally going to shove bugs in his mouth?”

Pidge snorts. “Jury’s still out.”

“You guys are the worst,” Hunk whines.

They spend the day scouting resources on a moon orbiting a gas giant. Keith’s not sure exactly what they’re pulling out of cave walls - he gave up listening after the fifth Altean word in a row he didn’t understand - but they look like finely glittering rocks. It’s not the most thrilling job. Even when Hunk nearly causes a cave-in. Even when Lance throws his back out trying to lift the biggest rock on the moon.

\--

When Keith has nothing else to do, sometimes he keeps Allura company on the holodeck. She tells him about Altean flowers, and festivals, and anything else that crosses her mind. King Alfor too, after he tells her about his own fatherly woes. In exchange he tells her about Earth. 

Sometimes he gets to tell her something new. Other times it’s damage control, correcting secondhand nonsense from Lance.

“Keith, are you familiar with the Earth animal Bigfoot?” Allura asks one day when they’re lazing about in the holographic field of flowers. 

“The  _ what _ ?” he asks. Maybe his ears are playing tricks on him. Maybe he won’t have to try to explain the concept of cryptids to a space princess.

She sits and shuffles close enough that she can look down at him. “Bigfoot. Lance mentioned it the other day. He said it is an incredibly rare humanoid animal with large feet - hence the name.”

Keith closes his eyes. He breathes in through his nose and exhales through his mouth. Okay so he wasn’t mistaken. “Bigfoot isn’t an animal, Allura.”

She frowns. “Well it is neither mineral nor vegetable, so I’m not sure how else to refer to it.”

“No,” he sighs, “I mean Bigfoot isn’t an animal because it isn’t real.”

“Lance was quite adamant about the veracity of his claims.”

“Yeah, because he’s an idiot.”

“Well if Bigfoot is not an animal, then what is it?”

He shrugs. “A myth? A local legend? Like a monster from a story - people talk about it, and some people really believe it’s out there, but it doesn’t exist.”

As he says it he realises that he’s sitting next to a magical princess, rocketing through space in a castleship, and he spends most days piloting a flying lion. He’s seen Galran druids perform literal magic. Bigfoot might not exist on Earth but there’s probably a planet out there full of people who look exactly like those weird grainy pictures from conspiracy magazines.

He keeps that to himself though. 

Allura’s too busy weaving herself a coronet of flowers to notice the journey he’s just been on. “So it’s a bit like believing in ghosts?”

“Yeah.” Close enough.

She settles the flowers into her hair and grins at him. “Thank you for clarifying. Something seemed off about the story but I did not know enough about Earth wildlife to be sure.”

He laughs. “No problem. Do me one favour though?”

“Of course.”

“Please don’t take anything Lance says seriously.”

She laughs. “Duly noted”

\--

They do the invisible maze again that afternoon. Lance must have figured out what Keith said to Allura, because he sends him into the walls more times than usual. He only stops when Shiro shoots him a stern look from the sidelines.

After that Lance still ‘accidentally’ sends him into the walls every other turn. He keeps a tally in his head. By the end it’s up to thirty-seven, which is exactly how many spiders Lance will find in his room that night.

It’s probably a coincidence.

Shiro flags Keith down after the others have left. His lips are curled in slightly at the edges, as though he’s trying not to smile. “You spent a lot of time walking into walls today.”

Keith shrugs. “You know how Lance is.”

Shiro’s facade breaks easily around a laugh. He never was any good at pretending to be serious. “I don’t know what you did but please at least tell me he deserved it.”

“Absolutely.”

“Alright then,” Shiro rolls his shoulders, “you wanna go a few rounds? Today’s maze didn’t really count as training.”

“Sure.” Like he’d ever say no.

“Alright.” Shiro smiles. “Same as usual?”

Keith widens his stance and holds his arms up in front of himself defensively. “Bring it.”

Their rhythm is a familiar one: a complex dance of steps, feints, and blows. Keith chooses his movements carefully. He circles until Shiro closes the distance and then ducks away from the blow, then grabs Shiro’s wrist and tries to pin it against his back. Shiro twists at the last moment and breaks his hold. 

Keith backs off for a second before surging forward. He feints right and then moves left but Shiro anticipates it, slipping out of Keith’s grasp to knock him off balance with a hip check. Keith stumbles, rolling out of the way before Shiro can get a solid grip on him.

“You’ll have to try harder than that,” he says, pulse roaring in his ears.

Shiro grins. “You sure you can handle it?”

_ God _ he loves the way Shiro looks at him when he’s watching his movements, trying to predict what Keith will do next.

“Try me,” Keith breathes.

He dodges Shiro’s first pass and shoulders his way out of the second. On the third Shiro gets a weak hold on his forearm. He reverses it, catching Shiro’s wrist just as he kicks Shiro’s knee out from under him, sending him sprawling to the floor. Keith pins his hand to his back and holds the other down with his knee.

He’s panting, sweat just starting to dampen his skin, and Shiro feels so  _ good _ under his fingers. His mind wanders to what it might feel like without clothes between them, how much better it would be skin to skin. 

Shiro must sense Keith’s distraction because he takes the opportunity to swivel, using the moment to flip them. Suddenly Keith’s staring up at Shiro, hand pinned over his head and heavy thighs straddling his hips.

Shiro’s grinning down at him, white strands of hair slicked to his forehead with sweat and cheeks dusted pink. He’s the most beautiful thing Keith has ever seen.

“Yield?”

It would be so easy to close the distance. If he tilted his head and strained his neck he could crash their lips together, could taste Shiro instead of trying to imagine what it would be like. 

Because he hasn’t spent an inordinate amount of time imagining this exact scenario. He hasn’t thought about what would happen if he could free his hands and pull Shiro down into a burning kiss. It would probably be slow at first. Gentle. Shiro would want to make sure that he was okay first, that he wanted this, before pushing him hard against the floor and taking him. Or maybe he’d realise how hard Keith is and lick into his mouth, grinding his hips down to pull sounds from Keith’s throat and capture them for his own.

Keith swallows as he traces the muscles of Shiro’s neck with his eyes. He wants to swipe his tongue across the skin, wants to leave little marks from his ear all the way down to-

“Keith?” You okay?” Shiro’s not smiling anymore. His eyebrows furrow and his grip loosens.

Keith blinks. He realises he probably should have said something by now. “Ye-yeah. Just peachy.”

Shiro frowns. He pushes the hair off Keith’s face and presses the back of his human hand to Keith’s forehead. “Geez, you’re burning up.”

He certainly feels warm all over. His last shred of reason screams that he should probably lean into the misunderstanding, make excuses to leave before Shiro figures him out. A much louder part wants him to lean into Shiro’s touch. Wants to grab his wrist and tilt until he can slide fingers into his mouth.

Even louder than that is fear. “Actually, I- I don’t feel well. Maybe we should call it early.”

Shiro draws back and pulls Keith with him, helping him stand. “Are you going to be okay? Do you need me to help you get back to your room?”

_ Yes, god, please _ . “Nah, I’ll be okay.”

He raises an eyebrow like he doesn’t quite believe it. “I’ll be here if you need me, okay? I want to squeeze in a few rounds with the droid before bed.”

_ How about a few rounds with me in bed instead? _ “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Take care of yourself, alright?”

_ I’d love for you to take care of me right now _ . “Stop worrying. I’m sure I’ll feel fine tomorrow morning.”

Shiro nods. “Sleep well, Keith.”

“‘Night, Shiro.”

Keith retreats to the showers. He blasts the water as cold as possible, shivering under the icy stream. Being awkwardly horny is one thing; he’s at the tail end of his teens, he learned how to handle that years ago. This is something else entirely. 

He wants Shiro’s mouth all over him. He wants to know what it would feel like to be pressed together, skin to skin. He wants lazy kisses on a Sunday morning. He wants to be able to reach out and twine their fingers together casually, as natural as breathing. 

He doesn’t have a name for this feeling. It’s new, and raw, and so much worse that just wanting to fuck. Keith tilts his head and closes his eyes, letting the water fall on his face. It’s cold enough that, after a while, he stops being able to think. 

Unfortunately he also stops being able to feel his toes. He shuts the water off and takes a deep breath before reaching for his towel.

The castle is in the night part of its cycle by the time he tiptoes back to his room, soft blue light lining the walkways. Keith likes the way the castle looks at night. There’s something dreamlike about the winding hallways and vaulted ceilings being bathed in a cerulean glow. 

When he reaches his quarters he sighs and motions to lock the door. When they first arrived in the castle he didn’t bother, then  two days later Lance tried to prank him in his sleep and nearly got stabbed for his efforts. Allura lectured them for what felt like weeks. Keith locks his door every night now.

He shuffles over to the bed and falls face first onto the pillow. Usually he’d read before going to sleep but right now his mind is too scattered. It takes conscious effort not to drift to the feeling of Shiro straddling him, his arms trapped against the ground.

Don’t think about it. Think of something else. Iverson. Think of Iverson. That bastard’s mug is just as good as a cold shower. He’s probably still blowing a gasket back on earth, screaming about  _ rules _ and  _ curfews _ and  _ respect for your superior officers _ . The only thing Iverson was good for was helping him meet Shiro.

Shiro. Who is devastatingly handsome and could kill a man with his pinky finger. Who always believes in him, even when Keith doesn’t deserve it. Whose weight feels so good on top of him, who can pin him like it’s nothing, and if he’d just shifted a little closer he-

Keith groans and flips onto his back. He runs his hands over his face. Breathe. Just breathe. He can ignore this. Push it back, deep down, so far that he can pretend he doesn’t feel it at all. He has plenty of practice with repression. Unfortunately, it’s hard to not think about something when it’s making you rock hard and desperate.

He’s already sticky when he takes himself in hand. Running his thumb over the slit is enough to make his head fall back. He focuses on the feeling, stroking himself quickly a few times, until his head starts to swim. He slows down and grips just a little tighter, breath catching in his throat at the heightened pressure.

He imagines Shiro between his legs, hands running slowly up his thighs. The metal one stops at his hips and rubs circles there, muscles singing under the careful touch of a synthetic thumb, while the other trails fire up against his stomach. Shiro presses a gentle kiss to the inside of his thigh. He traces his way upwards, lips fluttering feather light against skin and leaving Keith gasping. 

“I want you,” Shiro whispers against his hip. His voice is rough with heat and the warmth of his breath on Keith’s skin makes him squirm.

Keith bucks into his hand, the sounds falling from his lips more moan than word. “ _ Y-yeah _ .”

Shiro takes the head Keith’s cock into his mouth, rolling his tongue against sensitive skin. He feels hot and wet, and Keith lets out a shaky breath when gives just the slightest press of teeth. Each movement, each subtle shift of Shiro’s lips sends a jolt of electricity up his spine.

Shiro’s metal hand pushes Keith’s eager hips into the mattress while he uses the other to steady himself. He releases Keith’s dick from his mouth with a soft  _ pop _ and runs his tongue along the length, tracing the vein there. He repeats the action twice - slowly, deliberately, eyes never leaving Keith’s face - before he sinks down onto him again.

“Fuck,” Keith breathes. His hips jerk but he stays anchored to the bed, cool metal fingers gripping him hard enough to leave marks. He can feel the pressure building behind his naval, coiling tighter with each movement. The edges of his vision are hazy and he lets all tension fall away, relaxing into the warmth of Shiro’s mouth. 

Shiro hums his agreement and the vibrations make Keith’s toes curl, drawing a gasp from him when Shiro takes him in further and further, and the sight of him with his nose pressed to coarse hair at the base is enough to make Keith cry out. He fists his hand in Shiro’s hair, just hard enough to draw a groan from deep in Shiro’s throat.

Shiro uses both hands to pin Keith’s hips to the bed before pushing as deep as he can and when he swallows Keith groans, desperate to thrust further. He’s close to bursting, that familiar fuzz right at the edges of his mind.

“Shiro, I-” he manages, letting his hand fall to fist in the sheets.

Shiro pulls away just enough to look up at him and Keith lets out a shuddering breath. There’s a command in those eyes, so deep and dark.

_ Don’t look away. Watch me _ .

Keith nods, struggling to keep his eyes open. Shiro bobs his head, swallowing once, twice, pushing him right to the edge and-

Keith comes with a strangled moan, eyes rolling back into his head. Everything is bright and white, and feels like falling, the glow of it buzzing in every fibre of his being. His hips stutter as he strokes himself through, riding the waves of pleasure until he’s oversensitive. 

When his bones stop feeling like they’re made of jello he props himself up on his elbows and look around the room. He’s alone - of course he is - and he leans just far enough off the bed to find something to wipe himself off. He’s not sure what, exactly, he uses. It’s tomorrow’s problem. 

Somehow he manages to put his boxers back on before he falls asleep.

\--

True to his word, Keith does feel better the next morning. Although training proves much harder when you can’t look one of your teammates in the eye. He makes an effort though, because Shiro’s starting to get that crease in his brow that means he thinks he’s done something wrong, and there’s no way Keith’s going to let his own selfish fantasies hurt Shiro.

He flashes a smile, and receives a dazzling one in return. 


	3. Auriga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith freaks out about his knife, and the gang chill with video games.

_ AURIGA: Representing the charioteer, this constellation is most visible during winter evenings. Its brightest star is Capella, sixth brightest star in the sky. _

_ \-- _

The next few days are a blur of motion. The lions are separated. Keith catapults himself across a chasm to save Shiro from angry lizards. They meet Ulaz, who sacrifices himself to save them. Keith recognises the crest of Marmora.

He doesn’t bring it up with the others. How could he? He’s had a Galra knife since before he can remember and he has no idea what that means. Did the Galra come to Earth? Did his dad find the blade somewhere?

Does this have something to do with his mother?

That’s an… interesting thought. Logically he knows he has a mother, in the sense that someone gave birth to him. When he was younger and his father was still alive he’d ask questions about the kind of person she was. What was she like? How did they meet? What did she look like? He never asked where she was because his father always talked about her like she’d died.

He goes through his memories with a fine-toothed comb. His mother was strong and brave. They met by chance - his father had never elaborated on what exactly that meant. When pressed he’d hand-waved it and said something about the scene of a disaster, which to a young Keith had always equated to them meeting through work. Keith has her eyes. The word ‘dead’ was never used but they’d always spoken about her as though she had been permanently removed from their lives. There were no pictures of her.

He shoves the thoughts under his pillow with the knife. His stomach churns and he takes a moment to breathe deeply, to press his feet against the floor and let the feeling ground him. There’s an explanation. There has to be. But he’s not going to find it sifting through the fragments of decade-old memories. They’ll go to the Blade of Marmora headquarters eventually, and if the visit goes well maybe he can ask some questions.

The other thing on his mind is that Shiro expects  _ him _ to lead the paladins one day. The way he says it makes it sound like it’s something in the near future, a certain doom darkening the horizon, growing closer each day.

Keith doesn’t want to think about that. He’s already lived in a world without Shiro. The idea of returning to that makes his chest constrict, forces the air from his lungs, makes bile rise in the back of his throat. The world -  _ his world _ \- had been a worse place without Shiro. But he’s still here. He’s here, scars and all, with the same lopsided grin and eyes full of kindness and a heart that believes in people, even when they don’t deserve it. 

And Keith doesn’t deserve it, because he isn’t ready to be a leader. Not just because it would mean Shiro is gone. He’s reckless and hot-headed and he knows he doesn’t listen to the others when his adrenaline spikes and all he can hear is the rush of blood in his ears. As much as he likes to pretend otherwise, he’s never been good at setting his emotions aside. At thinking objectively. Because most of the time he doesn’t have to try. Keith has never cared about much. It was a conscious choice. If you hold nothing dear, it can’t hurt when it’s ripped away from you. Before Voltron it was just himself and Shiro. Now the whole team qualifies. And as much as that might be growth, he knows that if the chips were down he’d do anything to protect them. Especially Shiro. 

He’s not ready to be a leader. A leader shouldn’t sacrifice everything for one person, no matter how important, and he knows he’d tear every star from the sky with his own two hands if it would keep Shiro safe. If it would keep him here. So it’s a moot point, really. 

He doesn’t have to worry about being ready. He’ll protect Shiro. He’ll never have to take his place.

\--

Maybe it’s the adrenaline or the blood loss - or a combination of both - but Keith barrelling in to save him is the most beautiful thing Shiro’s ever seen. Keith smiles at him, so glad to see he’s safe, and it sends a flurry of electricity up his spine.

It’s just adrenaline. There’s no deeper meaning. And it’s certainly not why Shiro’s looking for him now.

He finds Keith on the observation deck. It’s a planned meeting - Shiro knows he goes there sometimes to think, and Keith’s been lost in his head lately. It’s hard to say exactly when it started. It might well have begun before he emerged from the healing pod. If he could pinpoint the moment in time Keith started to withdraw he’d have an idea what was on his mind. As it is, Shiro has to guess.

Keith’s sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around himself, looking up at the stars. The universe stretches out before him. He looks small.

He doesn’t move when Shiro settles beside him. They sit in silence for what feels like eons, watching the stars glittering in the abyss, and Shiro’s just about to open his mouth when Keith finally speaks.

“I still don’t recognise any of these constellations.”

That’s not a surprise. It’s not like they’ve had much time to brush up on astronomy since the Blue Lion dragged them to the other side of the universe.

“I tried to look them up but all the castle’s records are in Altean.” He’s still staring out into space when he tilts his head, shuffling over just enough to lean against Shiro’s shoulder. “Maybe I should have asked Pidge to run it through her translator.”

Keith’s so warm against him and now it’s Shiro’s turn to hold still, afraid that if he moves even a little the boy beside him will take flight. Wrangling Keith has always been a bit like befriending a wild animal. Move too quickly and they’ll run; try to touch and they’ll answer with teeth. Before Kerberos Shiro knew how to handle him. Now, he’s not so sure. There’s something different about the way this Keith reacts to him. It’s his soft smile, and the light in his eyes, and the way they gravitate together. There’s a comfortable warmth there, and Shiro doesn’t even realise he’s moving until his cheek presses against the softness of Keith’s hair.

Keith stills, as though holding his breath for a second, but doesn’t move away.

“Hey, Shiro?”

“Mm?”

“Thanks.”

He’s not sure what, exactly, Keith is thanking him for. He hasn’t really done anything. But Keith feels less tense now than he did only a few minutes ago, so that’s something. 

\--

Pidge’s room would best be described as ‘against Garrison regulations’. It’s clear she’s made some effort to sweep the clutter to the sides, just enough that there’s room for all of them to sit comfortably, but they’re still surrounding by piles of dirty clothes and various electronics. Keith swears he saw something moving in one of the piles of laundry when he walked in. Better not to think about it.

He’s wedged into the side of Pidge’s bunk, between the metal frame and Hunk. There’s just enough room that he can reach around the yellow paladin to grab a handful of what they’re tentatively calling Olkari popcorn. It’s bright purple and sweet, almost like candied popcorn back on Earth, and it pops when heated. Hunk’s been experimenting with his steadily growing intergalactic spice collection and, while Keith can’t pronounce any of the ingredients, they’re all pleased with the results.

Pidge sits on Hunk’s other side. It’s her turn with the controller. Her fingers dance across the buttons with practiced grace and menus flash by on the television screen faster than Keith can read.

Lance is on the far side, milkshake in hand. He waves his glass at the screen. “No, no, don’t use the fire spell! Use ice!”

Pidge makes a face at him. “Why does it matter? Fire’s at the top of the list. I’m not going with anything else unless I have to.”

“Yeah, but ice is cooler.” He waggles his eyebrows.

Pidge elbows him in the ribs. “That joke is so lame it just cost you your turn.”

“Oh come on!”

“Yeah, Pidge, don’t give him the cold shoulder,” Hunk says, grinning.

Keith speaks around a mouthful of popcorn, “Just chill out, guys.”

“You guys are the worst.” Pidge cringes. “This is cool and unusual punishment.”

“Whoa, double trouble!” Hunk claps a congratulatory hand across her back, so hard that he almost ejects her from the bunk.

Allura joins them not long into Lance’s turn with the controller. He and Pidge are sprawled on the floor by then so there’s plenty of room for her to slide in next to Keith.

“What are you all doing?” she asks, gaze wavering between the popcorn and the television. 

“Playing Killbot Phantasm,” Pidge supplies. “It’s an Earth video game.”

“Popcorn?” Hunk says, leaning around Keith to offer her the bowl. She plucks a single piece from the pile and eyes it critically, turning it a few times as though checking for danger before she pops it in her mouth.

She chews tentatively and her eyes light up. “This is actually quite good.”

Hunk beams. “It’s nothing compared to real popcorn, but I’m glad you think so.”

Allura and Hunk start discussing the differences between Earth and Altean snacks, and Keith occupies himself with tossing popcorn at the back of Lance’s head.

“Stop it, Keith,” Lance says, not turning around.

“Nah.”

“I mean it.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Seriously, don’t make me come back there.”

Just as he throws a kernel Lance turns around and catches it in his mouth. Keith throws another and he does it again. Pidge swipes the controller from Lance’s hands while he’s not paying attention.

When Lance catches a third piece effortlessly, Keith raises an eyebrow. “You’re actually pretty good at that.”

Lance preens, jabbing a thumb into his chest. “Garrison food catching champion, three years running.”

“That’s not a real contest,” Hunk says.

Lance glares at him. “Well if it  _ was _ I definitely would have been the best.”

“Oh yeah?” Keith swipes the popcorn from Hunk and lowers himself to the floor, setting the bowl between him and Lance. “I bet I would have beaten you.”

“This is stupid. You’re going to waste all my popcorn,” Hunk sighs.

Lance tosses a piece at him and it hits him between the eyes. “C’mon! You can keep score.”

“Please don’t get popcorn all over my room,” Pidge says. 

“Loser has to clean up,” Keith declares.

“No need.” Lance plucks a stray piece of popcorn from the floor and eats it. “Five second rule still holds in space.”

Allura wrinkles her nose. “That’s disgusting. You have no idea the last time this floor was cleaned.”

“Yeah I would not eat off the floor in here,” Pidge says. “I haven’t cleaned since we got here.”

There’s a pause, like he’s calculating the exact length of time, and Lance gags. “You couldn’t have told me that before?”

They settle into the familiar throes of competition. The score remains fairly even despite Keith’s inexperience, much to Lance’s frustration, and they escalate to trick shots in an attempt to trip each other up.

It’s funny how quickly things change. He wouldn’t say he ever hated Lance, but Keith was never especially fond of him during their time at the Garrison. He’d enjoyed goading Lance. Shiro had been less than impressed.

“You know, you could be friends if you weren’t provoking him all the time,” he’d said. “It’d be good for you.”

Keith hadn’t seen the point in making friends. He already had Shiro. Why would he need  _ two _ friends when he was doing just fine with one?

Now he wonders how things might have been different if he’d taken that advice. Sometimes he wants to shove Lance out the airlock, but there’s no denying that their friendly competition has pushed them both to improve. Even if it also sometimes makes them do stupid shit. Like now.

Lance wins in the end. He plays it up in his usual fashion, flexing and posing for imagined adoring crowds.

“How about a kiss for the winner?” He leans closer to Allura and puckers his lips.

She recoils and holds up her hands to keep him at a distance. “I think not.”

He topples to the floor, wounded, and flails about until he bumps against Pidge. “Victory is such sweet sorrow.”

Pidge shoves him away with one hand. Her eyes never leave the television, still focussed on leading her party to victory against what looks like a dragon with a bad case of gingivitis. “That’s not how that quote goes.” A beat. “So, are you gonna clean my room or what, Keith?”

Keith balks. “I said I’d clean up the popcorn, not the whole place!”

“Yeah, I know,” Pidge sighs. “It was worth a shot though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/hakogardens)


	4. Scutum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final pieces for their plan for the battle against Zarkon have fallen into place, so now seems like a perfect time to celebrate.  
> Please note the added tag: underage drinking.

_ SCUTUM: A small constellation representing a shield. Its brightest star is Alpha Scuti. _

_ \-- _

The evening starts innocently enough. Lance suggests a ‘paladin party’, an event with just Team Voltron to celebrate all they’ve accomplished and to calm their nerves for the coming battle. It’s innocuous enough that it doesn’t even occur to Shiro that ulterior motives might be at play.

Then Lance unveils a crate of Olkari wine and he remembers he’s surrounded by teenagers.

“Lance, no!” Hunk pleads. “I bought it for cooking.  _ Cooking! _ ”

Lance gapes at him. “So we’ll leave you a bottle! You don’t need the whole crate!”

“No alcohol.” Shiro crosses his arms. “None of you are legal and trust me, you don’t want to be nursing a hangover when we fight Zarkon.”

Keith frowns. “I’m not sure the law applies in space.”

“Exactly! And besides,” Lance says, “the drinking age is sixteen in Cuba. No laws being broken here, Mr. Officer.”

Shiro wants to pull rank. He really does. Technically they should be following Altean law given the origins of the castle. Looking to Coran and Allura doesn’t help; they’ve both filled their glasses.

He frowns. “Okay, but Pidge only gets two glasses and the rest of you need to make sure you stay hydrated.”

“Why am I the only one with a limit?” Pidge asks. 

Hunk pats her on the head. “Because you’re the youngest and you’re tiny.”

She puffs herself up to her full height, fixing Shiro in her gaze. “Four glasses.”

“Two.”

“Three and a half.”

“Two.”

“Three?”

Shiro sighs. “Fine, but  _ please _ don’t make me regret it.”

Pidge whoops in victory and scrambles to collect a glass.

The night progresses better than expected. Coran convinces Allura to play his collection of Altean folk music over the castle speaker system. None of the songs quite fit into any Earth genres, but the lilting tunes leave them relaxed. Hunk even produces an improvised platter of finger food.

“Holy shit, are those nuggets?” Lance grabs for the plate before Hunk even sets it down on the table.

“Yeah? I guess? I mean it’s not chicken, but-”

“I don’t wanna know.” Lance cuts him off. He bites into one and his whole face lights up, his eyes rolling back in rapturous bliss. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.”

There’s also Olkari popcorn, some sort of candied Balmeran insect, a half dozen bowls of assorted alien fruits and vegetables, a tray of white pastries arranged to resemble rabbits, and a huge bowl of what looks like sweet potato wedges.

Shiro settles on the popcorn since he knows it’s safe, before making a mental note to sample each of the dishes before the end of the night.

“This is amazing, Hunk,” he says. “How did you get all this together so quickly?”

Hunk scratches his chin, a sheepish smile spreading across his face. “Lance  _ might _ have told me he wanted to organise a party. Also I cook when I’m stressed and the castle has a super advanced refrigeration system - I don’t think it’s even possible for food to go bad in there.”

Lance sidles up and presses a glass into Shiro’s hand. “It all tastes better with wine, you know.” Shiro tries to give the glass back but Lance ducks away to hide behind Hunk.

Shiro heaves an exasperated sigh. “I shouldn’t.”

“Yes, you should,” Lance says.

Shiro glares at him. He is curious to see what Olkari wine tastes like, though, so he takes a sip. There’s no harm in having one glass. Just to placate Lance. 

As it turns out, Olkari wine tastes much the same as Earth wine. It’s a deep ocean blue, syrupy, and about as sweet as a rosé - sweeter than his usual tastes but not unpleasantly so. Maybe he could go for a second glass. Or a third.

The night starts to blur a little after that. Pidge produces a pack of cards and somehow wrangles everyone into playing poker. Allura and Coran do quite well despite only just having learnt the rules. Pidge, predictably, ends up cleaning them all out. Everyone is glad they didn’t agree to use actual money.

At some point he’s leaning back on the couch when someone slides in next to him and folds themselves under his arm. Looking down reveals Keith, his head resting on Shiro’s chest and his eyes closed.

“Hey there,” Shiro says. There’s something in the back of his head telling him that he shouldn’t be enjoying how warm Keith is, but it’s muffled behind about five glasses of wine.

Keith grunts an acknowledgement and winds an arm around Shiro’s waist.

Shiro laughs and brushes the hair out of Keith’s eyes. “How many have you had?”

“Dunno,” Keith says. “Was trying to match Lance.” A quick glance across the room reveals Lance’s feet sticking out from under the table. Oh. He’d forgotten he was supposed to keep an eye on them.

“That was stupid, Keith.”

“Yup.” He must really be gone if he’s admitting it. “You’re comfy.”

“Yeah?” Shiro brushes his fingers through unruly black hair and Keith sighs, leaning into the touch.

“Mm. Like a big pillow made of muscle.” He’s quiet for a moment, then starts tapping a steady beat against Shiro’s chest. “I can hear your heartbeat.”

He hopes Keith doesn’t hear how that makes something in his chest flutter. “I didn’t take you for a cuddly drunk.”

“Shuddup,” Keith mumbles. He hides his face against Shiro’s chest. “I jus’ like you, is all.”

Shiro leans his head back and closes his eyes, letting his fingers drift up to comb through Keith’s hair again. It’s more than just comfortable having Keith pressed against him. It feels safe. It’s like a cup of cocoa on a cold day, or the first ray of sunlight after a storm.

_ I should kiss him _ .

Shiro is halfway to pressing his lips to Keith’s forehead when he remembers why that’s a terrible idea. He’s had too much to drink. That must be it. There’s no way he would have even considered this otherwise. None. Keith is a  _ kid _ . Yes, he’s technically an ‘adult’, but Shiro’s been eighteen and he knows that when you’re that age you’re never as grown up as you feel. Besides, he’s responsible for Keith. He’d be taking advantage.

All of it’s a moot point though because this is the alcohol in his system. There’s no attraction. No affection beyond the friendship they share. He’s drunk. That’s all.

Keith protests when he gets up. Shiro pats his shoulder and resists when he tries to drag him back to the couch. “I think we both need to drink some water.”

\--

Keith probably shouldn’t have let Lance talk him into a drinking contest. He should know better, but he can’t help but rise to the blue paladin’s challenge. And maybe he should have stopped when the edges of his vision wrapped him in a fuzzy glow, or when his voice started coming out louder than intended, or when the aftertaste of alcohol disappeared and all he could taste was delicious sugary blue.

Is blue a flavour? It feels like a flavour. It lingers on his tongue even after he washes it down with the water Shiro brought him. 

He’s been drunk before. There was no one to stop him from breaking into the liquor cabinet during his year in the desert. His father had left behind a half dozen bottles of whiskey, and Keith had toasted him for. It burned at first: he gagged, nearly spat it all over the living room, but the warmth it left in his chest encouraged him to persevere. With a little trial and error he figured out how much he needed to drink until numbness settled into his bones. 

He tried not to make a habit of it, but it was helpful knowing that he could stop feeling for a bit when everything became too much.

This is a different kind of drunk though. He’s relaxed, but it’s not the emptiness he sought back then. It’s nicer than drinking alone. 

His one complaint is that Shiro isn’t wearing him like a scarf, which feels like a horrible oversight, and every time he tries to right this atrocious wrong Shiro slips out of his reach. After the sixth or seventh time - numbers have eluded him since three glasses of wine ago - Keith instead decides to bide his time. Shiro will get distracted eventually. Then he can strike.

He plops down on the floor next to the table and nudges Lance’s leg with his toes.

“Hey, you still alive down there?”

Lance grunts a response and slowly rotates until he’s lying with his head next to Keith’s hip. “‘M fine. Jus’ gonna stay down here ‘til the castle stops spinning.”

Keith snorts. “Lightweight.”

“Come down here and say that,” Lance slurs. He moves to push Keith but misses, letting his arm bounce against the floor. “Ah- I would’ve had you if you hadn’t moved.”

“No way.”

“Yes way. Shut up.” Lance sighs. “I really want pizza.”

Keith reaches above his head to drag the closest dish off the table. It’s the rabbit pastries. Score. “Hunk would probably make you some if you asked.”

Lance groans. “It wouldn’t be the same. I want, like, that gross stuff that’s so oily you can  _ taste _ the years it takes off your life.”

Keith gags around his pastry. “Ew.”

“You just don’t understand true happiness.”

Lance is still talking about pizza, so Keith ignores him in favour of watching Pidge try to teach Allura to play Go Fish. Coran watches over the princess’s shoulder, stroking his moustache.

“I still don’t see what this has to do with fish,” he says.

Pidge sighs. “It’s just a phrase. Here, let me deal you in and we can all play.”

Eventually their excitement draws in Hunk and Shiro, so Keith abandons Lance for a closer look. He examines Shiro’s hand - two 8s, two 5s, a 4 and a 9, and three 2s - then does an exploratory lap of the table. Upon his return he drapes himself over Shiro’s shoulders and wriggles until his lips are all but pressed to his ear.

“Allura has the other 2,” he hisses, and Shiro’s laugh rumbles under his fingers.

“Keith, that’s cheating.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

Allura glares at him over her cards. Ah. She still hates him for being Galran, and giving her away probably isn’t helping.

Keith hides his face in the back of Shiro’s neck. He must be ticklish because Shiro jumps at the contact and tries to peel Keith off of him.

“Wouldn’t you rather have your own chair?” Shiro asks.

Keith shakes his head, face still pressed into warm skin. “Nope.”

Somewhere off to the side, Hunk sighs. “I love drunk Keith.”

He can’t see the defeated look on Shiro’s face but he feels it in the way he slumps slightly. It’s a victory. Keith shifts to rest his chin on Shiro’s shoulder and looks over his cards. He hums.

“What should I do?” Shiro whispers. It’s right in his ear, close enough that he can feel Shiro’s breath on his skin, and the feeling settles deep and warm in his stomach.

He takes a deep breath and focuses on the cards in front of him. The 2s are gone, so Shiro must have taken care of that while Keith was occupied. He’s careful to keep his voice low when he replies. “I think Coran has a 5.”

Shiro frowns. “Did you see that when you were spying?”

“No,” Keith shakes his head. “Just a guess.”

“Are you guys cheating again?” Pidge asks from across the table. “Because if you are you’re getting Kaltenecker cleaning duty for a deca-phoeb.”

“We’re not cheating,” Shiro says, “we’re consulting.” He’s got that lilting tone, the one he uses when he knows he’s pushing the boundaries of acceptable.

“That sounds an awful lot like cheating to me,” Allura says.

Hunk chuckles. “Yeah, it sure does sound…  _ fishy _ .”

Coran snorts. “ _ Now _ I think I understand where the fish come in.”

The official verdict is that asking for help is against the rules, so Keith promises just to watch. As time passes and the group moves from Go Fish to Rummy to Crazy Eights, and finally to something Altean he can’t pronounce the name of, he starts to feel the effects of the alcohol recede. In its place comes fatigue. It probably doesn’t help that he’s still pressed up against Shiro, who’s so warm he might as well be a space heater.

Dimly, Keith’s aware that he probably shouldn’t fall asleep on Shiro. He’s sober enough now that he  _ definitely _ knows he shouldn’t be clinging like this. Both of those thoughts are much less appealing than letting unconsciousness take him, though, so he closes his eyes and tries to match his breathing to Shiro’s. 

It easy to pretend like this. With his eyes closed he can’t see the others, and he can pretend that they’re back in his quarters. He can pretend he always falls asleep like this: tangled together comfortably. Maybe Shiro would pet his hair again. Maybe he’d press feather-light kisses to Keith’s forehead, whispering promises to him in the dark. _Sleep well. I’ll be here. I’ll always be here. I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me._ _I love you._

_ I love you _ .

It’s the first time he’s imagined those words. He plays them over in his sleep-addled mind, lets the warmth it kindles in his chest radiate out until it curls into his fingers and toes. He holds the feeling tight, afraid to let it go in case he forgets between now and however long it is until morning.

He dreams of Shiro carrying him through the halls, of strong arms holding him and setting him down, gentle fingers brushing through his hair. He wants to hold Shiro’s hand. He reaches out and the dream Shiro lets him, threads their fingers together and squeezes.

This Shiro doesn’t whisper to him. He’s silent, features soft in the dim light. Keith opens his mouth to say the words he’s still thinking but his tongue is heavy and refuses to cooperate. The sound he makes doesn’t convey anything. He’s not even sure they qualify as words. Shiro brushes his fingers through Keith’s hair once more before fading into the darkness of dreamless sleep.

\--

When Keith wakes he’s back in his quarters. There’s a glass of water beside the bed, which he’s immensely grateful for, though he can’t remember how it got there. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/hakogardens)


	5. Circinus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro floats; Keith refuses to give up.

_ CIRCINUS: A small, faint constellation in the southern sky, representing the drafting compass. Its brightest star is Alpha Circini. _

_ \-- _

They open the Black Lion’s cockpit and Keith’s world comes crashing down around him. He searches every inch of the lion, crawls into all the tiny storage places, makes Pidge and Coran run a full scan to see if there’s anything he missed. They all come up empty.

Shiro isn’t there.

People don’t just  _ vanish _ . If Shiro isn’t in the lion anymore then he has to be somewhere else, and it’s that thought that drives Keith to comb through the debris of their battle with Zarkon. He’s not sure how long he stays out there. He’s not sure how much hypothetical ground he really covers. Actual thought is a bridge too far when his mind is full of  _ I have to find him, I have to save him, I can’t lose him again _ .

He doesn’t return to the castle until Pidge begs him, promising to keep searching while he sleeps. Allura is waiting for him in the Red Lion’s hangar. She hasn’t looked this tired since reviving the Balmera, with her face puffy and her eyes strained red. 

She pulls him into a hug as soon as his feet touch the floor. 

It’s an echo of their earlier embrace and he clutches her tight, lets her steady him when he starts to shake. She’s strong enough to keep him upright when his legs fail. He buries his face in her neck when he can’t suppress the sobs any longer, bubbling wet and loud out of his throat. If she minds that she’s covered in snot and tears she doesn’t say anything. Just holds him.

They stay like that until he can push the anguish back beneath the surface. Until he can pretend his heart isn’t shattering.

\--

At first, Shiro wonders if he’s dreaming. He can feel Black pressing against him on all sides, enveloping him like it did when it showed him Zarkon’s past. It’s not showing him anything this time though, unless he’s missing something about the endless abyss he’s floating in. Does he even have a body here? If he looks down he can see himself, but every movement feels like swimming through sand.

Maybe this is something he’s supposed to figure out on his own. Maybe this is a test. Black has always been reticent, giving only what he’s earned. The lion rumbles a denial around him. Not a test, then. 

A more direct approach might be best. “What am I doing here?”

The lions don’t speak in words. Their communication is more conceptual, instinctual, an innate understanding born from the bond between lion and paladin. Black’s answer is something so far removed from anything he understands that it might as well be nonsense. It must sense his confusion because its next rumble is simpler.

_ Protecting you _ .

His memory is fuzzy. What was he doing? He remembers Voltron, and Zarkon, and feeling like he’d been struck by lightning. Probing any deeper hurts, and Black growls as the pain blurs his vision.

“They need me. I need to go back.”

_ The paladins are fine _ .

“I have to be sure, I have to-”

_ Rest _ .

He doesn’t have the energy to argue with a mystical space lion, so he grumbles and closes his eyes. It feels like sinking. 

“For how long?” he asks. He’s expecting a concept that conveys either ‘a short time’ or ‘a very long time’, so he’s surprised when instead Black shows him a rush of his own memories. He sees himself, and Keith, and a common string of words tying all those moments together.

_ Patience yields focus _ .

He drifts off with those words ringing in his head, and dreams of hoverbikes racing under the desert sun.

\--

Keith finds a surprising amount of solace in Pidge over the next few days. She’s working on more questionable shuttle upgrades, so she teaches him how to use the Altean tools and how to perform some basic repairs. Pidge narrates whatever she’s doing so it’s nice just to sit in the same room, listening to her describe each step of deconstructing and rebuilding the shuttle’s engine instead of dwelling on his own thoughts.

It’s also nice because Pidge doesn’t push. She doesn’t look at him with the same expectant eyes as Hunk or Allura, like they’re waiting for him to break, and she certainly doesn’t make the same clumsy overtures as Lance. Maybe that’s not fair. They’re all trying to hold each other together. Unfortunately, for them that means they expect him to want to  _ talk _ about it, while Keith remains adamant that there’s nothing to talk about. Even when he wakes up screaming. Even when he stops sleeping to avoid the nightmares.

Shiro is out there somewhere. Keith will find him. End of discussion. 

He wonders if the reason Pidge doesn’t look at him like he should be mourning is because she’s been through this before. Everyone insisted her brother and father were dead after Kerberos. She knew better. She never stopped fighting. Maybe she wants to believe in him because no one believed in her.

Keith ponders this while holding a torch, lighting Pidge’s way as she rips out the guts of some salvaged Galra junk. 

“Any word on your brother?” he asks. He already knows what the answer will be but it’s the polite thing to do. He’s also asking because Pidge’s normal chattering has been stymied by the wrench she’s holding in her mouth and he’d really rather not be left to his own thoughts any longer.

She hums her response around the wrench. A minute goes by before she takes the tool in hand, allowing her to elaborate on the non-committal sound. “Not yet, but there’s a team of Blades coming back from the outer systems in a few quintants. Maybe they found the rebels out there.”

“Maybe,” he says. He doesn’t mention that they probably would have heard from the Blades already if that were the case. Kolivan isn’t the type to hold out on them.

Pidge digs her hands in amongst the mess of wires and pulls. The metal screeches in protest and Keith flinches, dropping the torch. He bends to pick it up just as something in the junk slides loose, sending Pidge toppling backwards. She trips over his foot and thuds to the floor, clutching a warped piece of machinery to her chest.

“I got it!” she says, bolting upright and running her fingers over her prize. “I can’t believe it’s still intact!”

Keith raises an eyebrow but crouches down to take a closer look. “What is it?”

“It’s sort of like a GPS?” she says, tapping a rhythm on the metal with her fingers as she tries to think of the right words. She gestures at the larger salvage. “That used to be part of one of those small Galra drones, and this,” she pats the thing in her lap, “is a server where the drone stored all the information it picked up on its sensors. If I get lucky this thing might have data about a whole heap of systems and planets we haven’t been to.”

Keith hums. “And if you’re not lucky?”

She shrugs. “It’ll explode and kill us all.” Keith’s eyes widen and she laughs. “I’m kidding! Don’t worry, I already disarmed the bomb.”

“The  _ what? _ Pidge-”

“Why else do you think I’d never managed to get my hands on one of these before? They’re rigged to explode if the drone is destroyed, or if someone tampers with the wires.” She sniffs and wipes her nose on her sleeve. “I took care of it. It’s fine.”

He casts a wary glance back at the salvage. “So is the bomb still in there, or…”

“Oh, right. I should probably put that out the airlock or something.”

“ _ Pidge! _ ”

“What?!” She pauses. “Actually, I have a better idea than shooting it out into space.”

Keith frowns. He’s beginning to rethink whether he considers spending time with her a good thing. “Which is?”

“We detonate it. Somewhere safe, of course. Not on the castle.”

“That’s-” he starts, then reconsiders. “Yeah, I can get behind that.”

Pidge whoops her excitement and scrambles to her feet. “I knew there was a reason I like you.”

\--

Shiro wakes to the feeling of Black roaring around him. It’s like being caught in a typhoon, power and thought buffeting him until he’s dazed and battered. The lion had been docile before. It was as though it were resting, just as he had been, and now it’s  _ humming _ around him. 

“What’s happening?” His voice is lost in the cacophony of thought, a leaf swept away in the river of Black’s excitement. If the lion hears him at all, it ignores him. 

There’s something tugging at his consciousness amongst the din and he follows the feeling, lets himself be drawn in whatever direction Black’s racing. The abyss starts to fill with detail. It ripples around him like it had when Black showed him its memories, and suddenly he’s standing in the cockpit. Well, not standing, really. It’s like he’s everywhere and nowhere at once. 

Is this the way the lions perceive the world? This isn’t like seeing the memories. That was like watching a movie. This is more like trying to see the ocean floor through an ever-moving tide, like trying to use a kaleidoscope to see the stars. He catches fragments of clarity in the chaos: low purple light reflected on the consoles, the back of the pilot’s seat, someone’s hand lingering on the armrest. 

As Black calms down and he adjusts, things come into focus. Keith sits in the pilot’s seat. He’s curled in on himself, knees drawn up to his chest and head resting on his arms. At first glance he might be sleeping. His dark hair hangs in his eyes and his breathing is slow and even. It would be peaceful, if Shiro couldn’t see the tiny tremble in his shoulders with each breath, or the dark circles under his eyes.

Keith looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Maybe weeks. Shiro’s first instinct is to rush to him, to sling an arm over his shoulder and pull him into a hug, to murmur reassurances that whatever’s wrong they can fix it, together.

But he doesn’t have arms. A cold, heavy feeling settles in his stomach. Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.

_ Keith? _

He has no voice. It’s lost somewhere in the vastness of Black’s consciousness, inaudible even in the lion’s silence. A chill shoots from his gut and right up his neck. Something in him must remember how hyperventilation feels because his chest twists painfully and his vision swims.

Black senses his panic and it brushes up against him, concern radiating over their bond.

_ What happened to me? _ he asks. There’s still no sound, the question only given form in the way it bounces against Black’s consciousness. He’d had a voice in the abyss. Maybe it doesn’t work when he’s sharing the lion’s senses.

The answer isn’t one he understands. It’s the same one from the last time he asked, but now it’s accompanied by a rush of his own memories. They were fighting Zarkon. They gave everything they had. Shiro gave more. He’d burned up like debris in the atmosphere.

Shiro made peace with death long ago. It had stalked him since childhood, lurking in every shadow and drawing nearer with each hospital visit. He lived his life on full throttle so that he could greet it as a friend, when the time came. There would be regrets. He’d made peace with that too - it would be impossible to do everything he wanted to, and no amount of time would be enough with the people he loved. Lingering afterwards hadn’t been part of the plan.

Keith takes a shuddering breath and unfurls, dragging himself to his feet. Black rumbles reassurance - whether it’s for him or Shiro is unclear. He sighs and rolls his shoulders, stretches until he looks more like himself.

“Don’t get comfortable with me,” he says. “I’ll find him, and I’ll bring him home.”

The determination in his eyes breaks Shiro, because he knows it’s the only thing holding Keith together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/hakogardens)


	6. Carina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro comes back.

_ CARINA: A constellation in the southern sky, representing the keel of a ship. Its brightest star is Canopus, second brightest star in the sky. _

_ \-- _

Shiro’s seen some weird shit since Kerberos - he’s a disembodied soul tethered to a magic space lion, for fuck’s sake. He’s learned to take ‘weird’ in stride. Nothing could have prepared him for this, though. 

He has an exact double. 

\--

Keith doesn’t believe in fate. At least, that’s what he tells himself. He’s torn on whether or not he  _ actually _ believes because, on one hand, Shiro keeps coming back to him. They’ll find each other no matter how many times the Galra or the universe or whatever else tries to tear them apart. On the other hand, if they’re fated to keep finding each other, then that means they’re also fated to be torn apart again. Keith’s not sure he could endure that. He’s finding it hard enough to leave Shiro’s bedside.

Shiro was barely conscious when Keith pulled him out of the Galra cruiser. He was awake long enough to register who had him and to vehemently refuse to be put in the healing pod, and then he was out. Keith’s been waking him every hour or so to make sure he drinks and to force-feed him a few spoons of food goo. Shiro protests but he’s too weak to fight. He takes what Keith gives, then falls right back to sleep.

For his part, Keith hasn’t slept in at least three quintants. They were fighting Lotor before Black picked up Shiro’s signal, and before  _ that _ he was determined to get as little sleep as possible. He’d pace if the room were long enough. As it is he sits on the very edge of Shiro’s bed, bouncing his knee.

He should rest. Even with anxiety buzzing in his veins his eyes keep fluttering closed and his head dips until his chin rests against his chest. When he dozes off and nearly falls on his face he knows he needs to make a call. Shiro shouldn’t be alone when he wakes up. Keith could ask someone else to watch over him, but it feels like a violation of trust to let the others see him in such a state, not to mention the selfish part of Keith that wants to be the first thing Shiro sees when he’s properly conscious.

He could sleep on the floor. It’s not ideal, but it’s also not something he hasn’t done before. He moves to lower himself to the ground and hesitates. Sleeping on the floor doesn’t bother him. What does, though, is the possibility that Shiro might wake up first and blame himself for Keith’s poor decisions. And that’s the last thing Keith wants right now.

That leaves the very much already occupied bed. It reminds him of that first night after finding Shiro again, when caution had driven him to choose the armchair. Shiro’s sleep is more peaceful than it was then. He knows where he is. He wouldn’t mind if Keith crawled in next to him. They’d shared beds before, back when they were just two idiots sneaking out of the Garrison. Sixteen year-old Keith hadn’t overthought sleeping in Shiro’s space because he wasn’t in love with him. The Keith of the present just had to go and make it complicated.

After a few more minutes of internal debate, Keith gives in. He slides under the blanket as carefully as possible, making sure to keep from touching Shiro. There’s not enough room. Shiro needs to shift and Keith holds his breath as he nudges against Shiro’s shoulder. 

Shiro stirs, blinking in confusion, and wriggles over just enough for Keith to slot himself in before dozing off again. He’s still right on the edge. Should he try to move Shiro again? He’s being a bother, he should have just slept on the floor-

Keith’s brain short-circuits when a strong arm wraps around his waist and pulls him in. Shiro’s asleep - Keith can tell from the slow rise and fall of his chest, pressed against Keith’s back. He forces himself to breathe. This is fine. They hug all the time; it’s only weird if Keith makes it weird. Even if this is much more like cuddling. Or spooning. And, fuck, sure enough, Shiro shifts in his sleep and pulls Keith flush against him. Definitely spooning.

Shiro breathes a contented sigh and buries his face in the back of Keith’s neck, completely oblivious to Keith’s burgeoning heart attack.

Keith’s not used to this kind of contact. As much as he daydreams about having Shiro wrapped around him like a living blanket he’d worried that the reality would be less comfortable. Keith doesn’t like to be constricted when he’s sleeping. It’s why, more often than not, his sheets end up in a scrunched up pile at the end of his bed, kicked off during the night. Shiro’s arm is a pleasant weight across his waist. His hold is relaxed enough that Keith can squirm into a more comfortable position and, once he calms down enough that his heart stops trying to escape out of his throat, Keith finds that the weight is… comforting.

Shiro is here. He’s real and warm and breathing. His hair’s too long and he’s wrecked from floating through space for a week but he’s  _ here _ . Keith closes his eyes and finds Shiro’s hand to twine their fingers together.

When Keith finally drifts off his sleep is, for the first time in weeks, blessedly dreamless.

\--

Shiro floats just below the edge of waking. His body repeats a familiar pattern learned in captivity: stir at the barest sound or movement, scan for danger, immediately return to sleep when no danger appears. He’s not really  _ awake _ during any of those periods. His eyes open and register nothing but the absence of threats. He’s dimly aware that he eats and drinks. Keith’s sitting with him, caring for him. Or maybe he’s not. It’s impossible to say whether brief flashes of messy hair and indigo eyes are reality or dream, and it definitely wouldn’t be the first time he’d imagined - or hallucinated - something like this.

His brain comes back online in stages. First comes the headache, a searing pain that ebbs and flows with his breathing. It feels like something has lodged itself deep in his skull and desperately wants to get out. He pushes the sensation away, reaches beyond the edges of his awareness for something that doesn’t  _ hurt _ . 

Shiro twitches his fingers. They curl around soft fabric and the feeling radiates out, covers him all over. It’s warm. He follows it, letting the feeling ground him and drag him further from sleep. There’s a particularly warm spot nestled against his chest. He leans into it, nudging closer, until something feather-light brushes against his nose. It’s familiar somehow. More of it touches his cheek when he shifts and it feels so nice, so comforting against his skin that he can’t help but press forwards. It smells like soap and sunlight and  _ home _ .

He mulls over his memories, trying to piece together why his head hurts so much. He remembers the fight. Zarkon. A Galra facility. Ice and snow and sleet. Floating through space. Keith. The images are fragmented and trying to piece them together makes the space behind his eyes burn, so instead he burrows further into the warm thing next to him.

A soft noise of protest from somewhere near his collarbone is what prompts Shiro to open his eyes. It’s too bright at first and he squints, casting his gaze around as the details come into focus.

He’s in his quarters, back on the castleship. The lamp in the corner provides enough light to see by - or it would, if even that dim light didn’t overwhelm him. He ducks his head back down, expecting the weight against him to be a pillow or balled-up blanket he can hide under, and has to suppress a squeak when instead he finds Keith.

Keith must be exhausted because even all Shiro’s moving hasn’t woken him. He’s tucked against Shiro’s side, limbs curled in on each other in that scrunched up way he likes to sleep.

Shiro starts to move away - this is suspiciously close to spooning, and as nice as it is it’s probably not what Keith signed on for when he went to sleep. Vague memories of Keith forcing him to drink fill in the gaps on exactly  _ why _ he’s in Shiro’s bed: he was taking care of him. He must have gotten tired but not wanted to go far, in case Shiro needed him.

Shiro’s heart flutters and he immediately clamps down on it. He’s lightheaded. He’s mistaking gratitude for something more. There is definitely not anything to read into this completely innocent situation and he is most certainly not having fluttery feelings about it. Even if having Keith so close is pleasantly comfortable. And he’s not letting his gaze linger, not taking in how beautiful Keith is when he’s asleep, how he’s softer like this. Shiro likes that Keith is all sharp angles, raw and uncompromising and fierce, but there’s something nice about this side of him too, with all his myriad shields thrown aside. He’s… peaceful.

Nope, none of that.

The plan was to put some distance between them. Shiro intends to stick to it, but he runs into another problem. He’s not sure how he missed it. Keith is a bundle of limbs, and one of those limbs is Shiro’s prosthetic. 

Shiro tugs experimentally on his arm, hoping he’ll be able to dislodge himself with minimal fuss, but Keith grumbles in his sleep and tightens his grip. Oh. Affection and panic bloom in his chest simultaneously, chasing each other as they spark through his veins. He’s not getting out of this without waking Keith. And he doesn’t want to risk that because Keith never looks this relaxed. He needs this sleep.

So Shiro does the only thing he can think of: he tries to go back to sleep. Their position seems somehow less compromising if he can blame it on unconsciousness. 

His body has other plans. It’s decided it’s done with sleep. The pain fades to the background as his brain catches up, and he starts feeling more like a human being and less like a sponge cursed with sentience. It’s a double-edged sword. He can look around the room without squinting, which is nice, but he can also feel all the places where he’s touching Keith.

Shiro can feel the soft fabric of Keith’s shirt, the rise and fall of Keith’s chest under his palm. He can feel the slender line of Keith’s waist caught in the crook of his elbow, and the long, solid warmth of Keith’s back flush against his chest. It’s comfortable in a way that buzzes under his skin and he wonders, briefly, if it would really be so bad to enjoy this.

No one would know. Shiro sighs inwardly because that’s not true.  _ He _ would know. Keith may not be a kid anymore but he’s still under Shiro’s care. He looks up to Shiro. He trusts Shiro. He deserves better than a mentor who can’t put his own emotions aside to be what Keith needs him to be, and Shiro can’t shake the feeling that Keith would feel  _ obligated _ to reciprocate. He’d rather die than take advantage of him like that.

Shiro closes his eyes and concentrates on breathing. He dozes, never dipping back into proper sleep, and waits. It’s obvious when Keith starts to stir: he wriggles, balls himself up tighter, and his breathing quickens.

Shiro pretends to be asleep. If Keith is perturbed by their closeness he doesn’t show it, unfurling his limbs and extricating himself from under Shiro’s arm with minimal fuss. He sits on the edge of the bed and stretches, then hesitates. Calloused fingers brush the hair from Shiro’s face. They linger, as though thinking, and then quickly withdraw. Keith mutters something under his breath, too quiet to catch, and it’s only when his weight leaves the mattress that Shiro scrunches his eyes and feigns waking.

Keith’s facing away from him. He shrugs on his jacket and gathers the dishes by the bed into a pile before looking back to Shiro.

Keith’s whole face lights up when he sees he’s awake, and it steals the air from Shiro’s lungs. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Shiro breathes, because he can’t think of anything else to say.

Keith sits and squeezes his shoulder. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

Shiro shakes his head, the flare of pain killing a chuckle in his throat. He flinches and Keith crowds in, hands coming up to Shiro’s face, just short of touching.

“Hey, take it easy.”

Shiro gets a laugh out this time. “Have I ever taken it easy?”

“No,” Keith sighs, “that’s why I’m here. To make you.”

Shiro tries to sit up but Keith’s hands on his shoulders press him back down. He whines in protest and Keith frowns.

“Don’t make me tie you down.”

Shiro makes a strangled sound, desperately hoping it sounds like defiance. The context is entirely innocent. The place his mind jumped to is decidedly not. Don’t make it weird.

Keith gathers the dishes in his arms and peers down at him. “I’m gonna go get you some food. Promise you’ll stay put while I’m gone?”

“Okay,” Shiro squeaks. 

He’s not sure how long Keith’s gone but he does keep his promise, which isn’t hard because he’s busy putting out the spot-fires Keith lit in his mind. Most are smothered by the immediate wave of guilt washing over him, but there’s a particularly persistent image of his wrists tied to the headboard of his bed while Keith straddles his hips that he has to put active effort into stamping out. Although, it would be one way to deal with the power imbalance…

Nope. Nope nope nope nope nope. Hopefully he’ll be able to stand soon because he desperately needs to douse himself in cold water.

By the time Keith returns, Shiro has mostly managed to wrestle his thoughts into submission. He accepts the drink-and-goo combo with enthusiasm. It’s funny how you can not realise how hungry you are until there’s food in front of you. His movements are stiff. Spooning goo into his mouth takes a lot more energy than he remembers and Keith hovers, watching every tremor like a hawk.

Shiro raises an eyebrow at him. Keith flusters, suddenly very intent on smoothing the creases out of his jeans. Shiro knocks his knee against him and smiles when Keith turns back to him to glare.

“I’m okay. I can feed myself.” He wills his arm not to shake as he demonstrates, raising a spoonful to his mouth. “See?”

Keith sighs and shakes his head. “Will you just let me worry about you for once?”

“I’ve already worried you enough.” Shiro doesn’t mean to say it. It slips out before he can stop himself, hanging heavy between them. He doesn’t want to talk about it. How he keeps leaving Keith. Not now. Later, when his head doesn’t hurt so much and he can’t still feel the phantom weight of Keith sleeping beside him.

“Hey,” Keith says, puts his hand on Shiro’s shoulder, squeezes gently until Shiro looks at him. His eyes are as deep and as bright as the night sky. Sometimes Shiro swears he can see constellations in them. “This might come as a shock but I- you’re-” he trips, clears his throat to catch himself, “you’re my friend, and I care about you. Of course I’m going to worry.”

“Keith-”

“ _ Shiro _ .” Keith takes his hand back and shoves it between his knees. Shiro knows the gesture. It’s the one Keith uses to keep himself from fidgeting. He sniffs and feigns a pout. “This isn’t negotiable.”

Shiro wants to argue, so instead he shoves his spoon in his mouth. He knows Keith’s right, knows if their positions were reversed he’d move planets with his bare hands if it would just make Keith understand how much he cares. If it would help him feel better. He’s never quite felt worthy of that devotion. Keith is, despite his standoffishness, the kindest and most generous person he’s ever met. It’s wasted on someone like Shiro. Someone broken. 

Keith takes his dishes as soon as he’s finished eating. He sets them down on the floor and then looks at him,  _ staring _ .

Shiro’s heart beats in his throat. Keith’s gaze is appraising, scrutinising, and Shiro is suddenly very conscious of the fact that he’s beyond scruffy, had crossed into dishevelled even before spending a week floating through space. 

Keith reaches out and flicks at the ends of his shoulder-length hair, failing to hide a grin. “You look like you belong in a hair metal band.”

“That bad?” Shiro asks. If it looks anywhere as bad as it feels - knotted, a horrible hairball-like cluster scratching right at the base of his neck, catching whenever he moves - then he must look awful. 

“It’s pretty bad,” Keith confirms. “You gonna cut it back to your old style?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

Keith hums. “I can cut it for you if you want.”

It takes Shiro a moment to process what’s being asked, only responding when Keith’s eyebrows start to knit together in concern. “You know how to cut hair?”

“There was no one to do it for me while I was living in the desert.” He shrugs, letting his bangs fall over his eyes. “It’s fine if you don’t want to, but at least let me get the knots out of your hair. You’ll feel better when they’re gone.” There’s something about the way his shoulders tense up that makes Shiro think he’s speaking from experience. 

“It’s alright, I’m just going to cut it all off anyway, you don’t need to-”

Keith rolls his eyes. His voice is soft as he peers up from under that mess of soft, black hair. “Just let me take care of you.”

Shiro feels heat rush to his cheeks and hides his face. He must be as red as Keith’s jacket. There’s no way he can argue with that look. So he acqueises, mumbles his assent and points Keith in the direction of a comb, lets Keith jostle him forward until there’s space for him to kneel behind Shiro on the bed.

Shiro tries to remember to breathe when Keith starts touching his hair with careful fingers. He peels at the knots, separates them into smaller and more manageable clumps, gentle enough that Shiro can barely feel it.

“Let me know if it hurts,” Keith says. He sets to work with a combination of comb teeth and fingers. Shiro feels the movement and not much else.

“Where did you learn to do this?” he asks.

Keith doesn’t answer for a moment, focussing on his work. His voice hints at the slightest strain when he responds. “Dad’s hair used to get tangled like this sometimes. It wasn’t as bad because his hair wasn’t as long but…” he trails off. “Smoke and sweat have that effect, apparently.”

He doesn’t offer anything else and Shiro lets it lie, lets them ease into comfortable silence. There’s still pain throbbing deep in his skull, but it’s easy to ignore in favour of Keith’s cautious movements, brushing against his scalp. 

When was the last time he let someone take care of him like this? He can’t remember. Probably not since before Kerberos. Vague memories of bubble baths dance behind his eyelids, an almost forgotten guilty pleasure from another lifetime. There were books, too, but he learned his lesson after the fourth time he fell asleep and woke up to waterlogged pages. He remembers complaining about it to Keith and the incredulous look he’d received in return - how could he possibly complain when he had his own bathroom? He stifles a laugh and Keith makes an enquiring noise behind him. 

“Just thinking,” he says.

“About what?”

He moves to shake his head but stops himself. “Nothing, really.” He pauses. “You think Alteans have bubble baths?”

Keith laughs. “Probably? You should ask Allura.”

Shiro hums. “Maybe later.” His eyes are starting to grow heavy so it’s probably time for a nap, but that would mean asking Keith to stop touching his hair. That’s too much of a sacrifice for sleep. Keith is so gentle and he’s doing this because he  _ wants _ to, not because Shiro asked or out of some sense of obligation.

Shiro’s fairly sure the depth of affection that stirs in his chest could sustain him for a thousand sleepless nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/hakogardens)


	7. Canes Venatici

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Naxzela; Matt tries to wingman.

_ CANES VENATICI: A small constellation, its name is Latin for “hunting dogs”. Its brightest star is Cor Caroli. _

_ \-- _

Keith had assumed it would be temporary. He’d be the black paladin until Shiro returned and then - well, he hadn’t had a plan for what would happen afterwards. Maybe he’d thought they could go back to how they were. That’s not an option anymore, not now that Allura is excelling in her new role and the rest of the team have finally settled into their new formation. He’s the only one who doesn’t feel like he belongs in his lion.

Not  _ his _ lion. He was just keeping the seat warm. He entertains the thought of snatching Red back from Lance for all of five seconds before throwing it in the proverbial garbage can, and it makes him feel ever shittier when Lance comes to him with the same idea. The fact that Lance would even consider giving up his lion means he’s more qualified to be a paladin than he realises, fitter to pilot Red than Keith ever was.

There are six paladins and five lions. The answer is obvious. Keith will bow out, let Shiro take his rightful place. He’ll support them from the bridge. His pride is a small price to pay to see the team whole again.

But Black has other plans. 

Keith wants to cry when it rejects Shiro, wants to scream until the lion changes its mind, but the others need him. There’s no time for a tantrum. Afterwards Shiro beams at him - so  _ proud _ \- and it feels like a knife in his gut. 

He stole this. He doesn’t deserve to be the black paladin.

The next few skirmishes only confirm how unworthy he is. His decisions endanger the team, nearly get them  _ killed _ . He should have listened to Shiro.

And Shiro still smiles at him. Offers advice. Showers him with praise. It’s genuine. That’s just how Shiro is. He means every word he says and gives encouragement straight from his heart. He’s  _ happy _ for Keith.

Keith wishes he wasn’t. He sees the tiredness in Shiro’s eyes and the way his shoulders slump when he thinks no one’s looking, how he volunteers for the smallest tasks as though he needs to make himself useful. Shiro was meant for greatness. Keith snatched it out from under him.

Alone in the cockpit after a fight, Keith stares at the dormant console.

“Why?” he asks. “Why me? Why won’t you take him back?”

Black is impassive in its silence.

It’s not until later that night that an idea begins to form in Keith’s mind. 

If the lion won’t admit it made a mistake, then he’ll force its hand.

He throws himself into his work with the Blades. Kolivan is pleased with his dedication and soon enough he’s tagging along on missions that actually matter. He carves a place for himself. He earns his spot beside Kolivan and for the first time in months he feels like he belongs.

The paladins are disappointed that he’s shirking his duties. He’s not there when they need him and the betrayal in their eyes feels like a crushing, icy grip in his chest. It doesn’t matter. He’d shoulder the entire universe’s scorn if it meant Shiro could regain his dream.

The lion calls out to him. He ignores it. 

\--

If Shiro had thought it strange to simply have a double, it’s unbearably so when said double takes over as Black’s new pilot. Even worse is that, as far as he can tell, the person standing in the cockpit  _ is _ him. He watches, waiting for the imposter to give some hint that something is wrong. It doesn’t come. 

If it walks like Shiro and talks like Shiro, it’s probably Shiro.

So what does that make him? He feels real. Well, apart from not having a physical body. Or being able to interact with the world. Maybe he was never real to begin with. Maybe he’s just a fragment of Black’s consciousness. Maybe this is just a  _ thing _ the lions do.

Black senses his distress, presence shifting to press against him. 

_ You are you _ .

“How can I know that?” he whispers.

_ You are you _ .

“Then who is-”

_ Not you. _

It would be more reassuring if he couldn’t feel Black’s doubt crawling over his skin like a thousand furious ants.

\--

When Keith leaves with the blades, Shiro’s overcome with a strange mix of overwhelming pride and sadness. He hugs Keith goodbye and lingers probably a little longer than he should because Keith will be missed, and he wants to make sure Keith knows it.

The Blades depart and the team is left on the bridge to ponder their next step. He doesn’t realise he’s staring into space until Pidge places a consolatory hand on his elbow.

“He’ll be fine,” she says.

Shiro wants to thank her but the words refuse to solidify in his throat, so instead he nods his agreement.

Lance siddles up next to him. He’s grinning in that way he does when he’s not sure what else to do with his face. “Yeah man, get it together. You look like my mom on my first day of school.”

He gives Lance a withering look but his heart just isn’t in it.

The following weeks are a test in just how well he can keep his composure. The new team dynamic works and he’s especially surprised with how far Lance has come since taking over as red paladin. He’s evened out, happy to support the team instead of chasing his own glory. Or maybe this is just how he is when Keith isn’t around to rile him up.

Allura, too, has grown in leaps and bounds. She’s learning to go with the flow and stop analysing quite so much, and it’s refreshing to see her finally acting her age.

Pidge and Hunk haven’t changed much but they’re cooler under pressure and their piloting has improved. They’re more at home on the battlefield than ever before.

Shiro’s so proud of all of them. It boils over when Pidge finds Matt and he nearly cries right there in front of everyone. He’s the leader of Voltron. He gets to watch his teammates grow. He gets to be part of this symbol of hope and bring freedom to millions of people all across the universe. 

It’s  _ more _ than he dreamed of. 

But it’s not the same without Keith.

The Blades check in infrequently, a consequence of the covert nature of their operations. Kolivan never takes longer than he needs to say his piece. His jaw is always set in a grim line, regardless of whether he’s delivering dire news or tidings of victory. Sometimes Keith stands beside him. Those are the best communications, regardless of actual content. There’s no time for anything except work. That’s fine. 

It’s enough to know he’s alive and well.

\--

Keith barely thinks before slamming the thrusters and rocketing towards Haggar’s forcefield. Matt’s screaming in his ear. He can’t hear it. His cruiser might not be enough to blast through but it’s all he can do.

If he fails, the paladins will die. If he succeeds he can save them. The countless other lives on the line don’t even factor into the equation. And if he burns up for nothing it’s just as well; he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t  _ try _ .

Shock doesn’t even begin to cover the feeling when Lotor of all people comes to their rescue. Haggar retreats and the rebels are left to puzzle out just how to deal with a surrendering Galran prince. They settle on restraining him and depositing him on one of the rebel ships until Coran arrives with the castleship and an appropriately equipped brig.

Keith helps manhandle Lotor into his cell. Volunteers, even. Voltron won’t arrive for a few vargas so he plans to spend his time standing around menacingly with his mask on. He isn’t expecting Matt to grab his wrist and drag him into an empty room.

It’s one of the many unfurnished rooms in the castle, a relic from a time when the ship housed more than six people. There’s nothing remarkable about it except for the thick layer of dust coating every surface. 

“What?” he asks, and it comes out with more of an edge than intended.

Matt gapes at him. “What do you mean, ‘what’? Are you seriously going to pretend that didn’t happen?”

Keith blinks. “Huh?”

“You were about to blow yourself up!” He throws his arms wide, mimicking an explosion. “What the fuck, Keith?”

“Oh.” He hadn’t expected a lecture. Matt’s hardly a close friend. Keith can count the times they’ve met in person on one hand.

“Geez,” Matt heaves a sigh and presses a hand to his forehead. Keith tries not smile. Pidge makes the same gesture when she’s mad - she must have learned it from him. “You could have waited, you know. We would have figured something out.”

He doubts that, but he holds his tongue. A full-blown argument is the last thing he needs when he’s still trying to figure out why Matt  _ cares _ .

“I’m not getting through to you at all, am I,” Matt says, shaking his head. “God, you’ve spent too much time with Shiro. You have the same bad habits.”

“Sorry,” Keith says, not because he’s sorry but because he feels like he should say something.

Matt rolls his eyes, apparently reading his mind. “No, you’re not,” he sighs. “Look, just… Don’t do that again. We’d all be devastated if we lost you.”

Keith raises an eyebrow at the all-inclusive ‘we’ and Matt laughs.

“Yes, I mean me too. Shiro talked about you so much on the way to Kerberos you were basically the fourth crew member.”

Keith’s face burns and he feigns pushing his hair off his face to hide it. Would it be too obvious to ask what he said? Probably. Instead he just shrugs. “You must be sick of hearing about me then.”

“Nah, I want updated stories. Gotta have something to embarrass him with at dinner when we get back to Earth.”

Keith’s mind stutters over  _ dinner _ .  “What?”

He knows Matt and Shiro are close - were close at least, before they were abducted by aliens - but dinner has a decidedly not-friendly connotation. Have they already made plans together? Promises? What else has he missed? 

Matt’s laughing, already scheming, but he stops when he sees the concern on Keith’s face. “Dinner. You know, Holt family dinner.”

Oh. Of course. “Right,” he nods. It’s a little too quick, and he winces when Matt notices.

“Wait wait wait, what did you  _ think _ -” He trails of mid-sentence, an unreadable expression crossing his face. Keith’s struck with the uncanny image of Pidge and her gleaming glasses, and the unsettling feeling he’s being read like a book. 

After a few seconds of silence Matt snaps his fingers. He’s smiling. “Huh.”

“‘Huh’ what?” Keith asks, ever thankful for his Blade training teaching him to keep panic out of his voice.

“Nothing.” The grin on his face indicates that it’s anything but. 

Usually Keith would rise to the challenge. He’s done it enough times with Lance, and it always ends in both of them doing something stupid. Maybe he’s grown beyond that. Maybe it’s self-preservation. 

It’s definitely self preservation. That grin is setting all kinds of warning bells off in his head. Whatever it is isn’t worth the embarrassment. 

He turns on his heel and starts to leave the room.

“Hey, wait!” Matt scrambles after him. “You’re not even going to ask?”

“Nope.”

“Oh come on!”

“Not happening.”

“Fine,” Matt huffs. “Just know that your secret’s safe with me.”

Keith has no idea what he’s talking about and he’s too afraid to ask.

Matt continues. “I think you should tell him though. You’d be cute together.”

He nearly trips over his own feet at that.

\--

Shiro isn’t expecting Keith to still be there when they get back. He’d thought the Blades would be heading right back into action. Instead he walks into the lounge and finds the other paladins and Matt have dogpiled Keith, crushing him into the sofa. Keith’s head sticks out from under one of Hunk’s legs. He’s making a valiant but ineffective effort to scowl.

They look up when Shiro enters and he frowns just for show, crossing his arms and doing his best to broadcast how very disappointed he is. Nobody falls for it. He switches to a grin and takes a few steps towards them.

Lance’s eyes go wide. “Oh no. No, no, no, no, no, Shiro  _ don’t _ -”

It’s too late. Shiro’s already launching himself into the pile. Limbs fly in all directions and the world turns upside down, and they’re all laughing when their precarious pile of bodies tips to the floor. The sound of the team - so happy, so  _ together _ \- has him feeling lighter than he has in weeks.

He listens while Lance and Pidge recount the battle on Naxzela, complete with sweeping gestures and inaccurate laser noises. Keith nods along and occasionally interjects with additional detail about what the Blades or the rebels were doing. 

They finish the retelling and Pidge is about to launch into the story of the sentry she reprogrammed to understand fun when Matt shoots her a look.

“Ah, right,” she redirects, rubbing the back of her neck. “We’ve got stuff to do. Important paladin-rebel stuff. I’ll tell that one later.” She grabs Hunk and starts to drag him towards the door. 

“Yeah, paladin-rebel stuff,” Matt says. He looks pointedly at Lance.

Lance furrows his brow. “Dude we just liberated like a gajillion star systems. Can’t it wait?”

Shiro looks between them, confused. Surely someone would have contacted him if it were important. “Is this something urgent? Did I miss the comm?”

“No, no, everything’s okay!” Matt waves his hands between them, reassuring. “We’ve got it handled. You should just... chill out for a bit. Here. With Keith.”

He’s certainly not opposed to the idea. “Are you sure?”

Something in Allura’s eyes lights up. She grabs Lance and Matt by the elbows. “Oh! Yes, of course! We’ve got everything under control. You should use this time to take a well earned rest.”

Lance looks scandalised and opens his mouth to protest. He closes it again when Allura glares at him.

“Well, we should be going then! Galaxies to save and all that.” Matt salutes as he hurries them all out the door. He pauses before the door slides closed, and maybe it’s a trick of the light but Shiro swears he sees Matt  _ wink _ at Keith.

Shiro blinks after them. “That was weird.”

Keith doesn’t respond. He’s staring down at his feet as though they’re the most interesting thing in the world.

“Keith?”

He startles at Shiro’s voice, and when he looks up his cheeks are dusted pink. “Sorry, were you saying something?”

Shiro frowns. Keith isn’t prone to spacing out. Has he been working himself too hard? He scoots across the sofa until he’s close enough to get a good look at Keith’s face. “You doing okay?”

“Ye-Yeah,” Keith stammers. He looks back over his shoulder at the door. “Fine. I’m fine.”

Shiro follows his gaze and laughs. “What, didn’t expect them to be so happy to see you?”

“Something like that.” He looks back down to where his hands are folded in his lap. His expression is thoughtful as his eyes flick back up to Shiro’s face. “Are you happy to see me?”

“Of course I am.” Shiro answers without hesitation. “I’m always happy to see you.”

Keith hums. What could possibly be going through his mind to make him think that Shiro  _ wouldn’t _ want to see him? He’s about to ask when Keith shifts closer and rests his head on his shoulder, and Shiro loses his train of thought. 

They sit in silence. Shiro shifts to lean his cheek against the top of Keith’s head in an imitation of the last time they sat like this, looking out at the universe. Keith takes it as an invitation to wriggle closer until their knees knock and their sides are pressed together. Shiro can feel the warmth of him through their clothing and it makes his breath catch in his throat.

He wants to pull Keith into a tight hug, to keep him safe against his chest and trail kisses through his hair, wants to whisper reassurances in Keith’s ear until he knows just how much he means to him. Instead he pushes the feeling down until his heart no longer feels like it’s trying to escape his chest. He’s so busy wrangling his own thoughts that he almost doesn’t notice Keith looking up at him with those beautiful, star-filled eyes.

There’s anguish there, and Shiro silently berates himself for getting distracted when Keith so obviously needs him. He puts on his best smile, nodding slightly in encouragement.

“You wanna talk about it?” He offers.

Keith looks away again, shifts until he’s kneeling on the sofa and his forehead’s pressed against Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro reaches out with gentle fingers to brush the back of one of his hands, shaking in his lap. He doesn’t resist when Keith grabs hold, clutching tightly, just on the edge of painful.

“Hey, Shiro?” 

“Mm?” He can’t see much of Keith’s face, but what he can see is twisted up with effort. Whatever it is must really be bothering him.

“Shiro, I…” He takes a deep breath, holds it, tension leaving his shoulders with the exhale. “I- you-”

“Take your time,” Shiro soothes.

Keith sighs and pulls away. He laughs but it’s hollow, shakey. It almost sounds like he’s laughing at himself. “I’m glad you’re safe. You had me worried.”

Shiro smiles and uses his free hand to ruffle Keith’s hair. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologising for? It’s not your fault a witch tried to blow you up,” Keith grumbles, batting his hand away.

Shiro chuckles. “No, I suppose it’s not.” He pauses. “Was there anything else?”

“What, I’m not allowed to worry about you?” Keith snorts, rocking off the sofa and to his feet. “You could have  _ died _ , Shiro.”

And maybe that’s all it was. Shiro’s the first to admit he struggles to remember that people care about him just as much as he cares about them. Keith looks up to him. Of course he’d be upset that they all came so close to death.

Especially since he wasn’t with them. Maybe that’s the real problem. Maybe he feels like he let them down.

Shiro reaches out to take his hand again and Keith nearly jumps out of his skin at the contact.

“Wha?”

“I’m proud of you, Keith.”

Keith’s never been great with straightforward affection, so it’s no surprise when his face turns red. Shiro lets himself wonder for just a second what it might look like if Keith were blushing for a different reason before filing that thought away.

Maybe in a few years, if he still - if he  _ ever _ , he corrects - had feelings of that nature he might get to find out.

Keith mutters something under his breath that Shiro doesn’t catch.

“You say something?”

“Hm?” Keith quirks an eyebrow. “No. But, uh-” he fumbles, as though struggling to put the words in the right order, “I’ve probably got at least another varga until Kolivan wants us mobilised. You wanna keep me company while I grab some food?”

Shiro’s about to let slip  _ it’s a date _ but manages to clap his mouth shut just in time. Instead he manages, “Sure.”

Keith grins and heads for the door. “Maybe I’ll even tell you a Blade story or two.”

“I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/hakogardens)


End file.
